Deserving?
by bitter-alisa
Summary: The rising star of ROH CM Punk is anything but easy, but Colt can't help himself but feel driven towards the troubled and rebellious Second City Saint. Dealing with Punk's self-destructive behavior and other issues is hard enough, and Colt has his own demons to fight, especially the one called "being in love with someone far out of your league". Colt/Punk
1. Stray cats and stray Punks

**Chapter 1: Stray Cats And Stray Punks**

Colt Cabana may not be the smartest guy around, but he knows insanity when he looks right at it.

He also knows greatness.

And the guy he now watches beating the hell out of Raven, blood covering most of his face and coloring his bleached hair bright red, clearly possesses both. He doesn't spare his opponent, he doesn't even spare himself – he would do anything for a victory. He doesn't seem to give half a shit what Raven's fans in today's audience think of him – he doesn't, in fact, give a shit what _anyone _in _any _audience thinks of him. The way he mocks Raven's iconic sitting position is absolutely hilarious to Colt, and the look on Raven's face is downright priceless. In between excellently executed moves Punk just hangs in the air on the ring ropes and gives the world one of his mocking arrogant smiles, and it is enough to turn anyone into a believer that he actually _is _better than everyone. Because he can back it up.

Punk doesn't particularly hate Raven, if anything, he respects him as a wrestler, but Raven just happened to be another obstacle in what Punk sees as his way to acknowledgement and greatness. It's not exactly wrestling that is Punk's addiction, it's winning. There is literally no lines Punk is afraid to cross to get what he wants. He doesn't stop when he can barely see through the blood pouring in his eyes, he doesn't stop when Trinity interferes – he just ignores the red in his sight and kicks the annoying bitch through the table, something Colt would never do, either because he has too much respect for himself and people he works with or, as some might put it, because he's a pussy.

Oh, he's heard it all. "You suck", "Shut up", the "What?" chant, and the worst of them all, "You can't wrestle"; he's heard it so many times that now it just causes a some sort of a faint dumb pain in the back of his head. "He's been hit in the head one too many time," they say, he laughs that off and pretends not to care, because if he as much as hinted how much it actually hurt, it would all get significantly worse. He always knew he's not the one to make it big, so now he just tries to at least be funny and enjoy it along the way as much as he can, because that is one of very few things he actually finds joy in. Wrestling and the opportunity to be in the shadow of CM Punk's insanity and greatness.

When they do a tag Colt truly comes alive. They're a perfect team, everything he lacks in planning and plotting he compensates with his skill and strength, Punk plays mind games and gets the crowd while Colt loyally stays beside him, ready to take any command and defend his partner at all costs. Punk pisses everyone off, and even though Colt at first is perceived as some sort of a bad joke, everyone soon learns to take him more seriously, and it is all because of Punk. He would have quit long ago if not for Punk, despite his passion for wrestling, and it's not mere support Punk gives him for the reasons unknown; Colt has other reasons to stay beside him.

Punk is everything he is _not_, and that is what drives Colt towards him, drives much more than it should, and no matter how many times he has called himself an idiot for falling head over heels like a stupid highschool girl, acknowledging his own stupidity does not make it better. He had felt this way from the first time they've met, at Ace's training, the moment he saw this angry troubled kid with a spark in his eyes removing his old t-shirt to expose his lean muscular body covered in various tattoos. Colt fell for Punk's determination, attitude and striking, if unusual, beauty, as opposed to his own clumsy awkwardness and barrel-type looks. That very second when he accepted to be undeniably in love with CM Punk, he realized that he doesn't stand a single chance. Because he is just an ugly, boring, stupid nobody.

And a guy.

But he can't help himself but to idolize and so hopelessly _love _him, and feel ridiculously overprotective towards him, even though Punk is the last person to need anyone's protection. He has a hard time facing Punk in the ring, and even harder time to watch him wrestle because all he wants is Punk never to get hurt. While he does his best not to be too harsh on Punk, he cannot guarantee it for the others, especially someone like Raven. This is why when Punk falls face down on the ring floor once again, Colt retreats to the backstage.

_I can't take it anymore._

* * *

Just minutes after, Punk bursts into their shared locker room, spilling blood all over the place, busted open, but with an expression of an absolute happiness on his face.

"You won?" Colt asks, relieved to see Punk actually _alive_ after all the beating he has taken, but worried about his bleeding brow.

"_Of course _I won," Punk snorts at the mere thought he could've lost. "C'mon, don't just stare like that, Cabana, and get me a towel."

Colt sighs and obeys, he grabs his own towel and hands it over to Punk who is already in the shower, and when he steals a glimpse at Punk's bare ass, he just sighs again and leaves the room for his own match.

Which, in fact, doesn't take too long to get over with, since he loses to Hero pretty fast, and after they're done, Chris complains that Colt wasn't even trying. It is true, Colt doesn't argue, for some reason today he doesn't feel like putting up a good fight and show; all he wants at this present moment is to get home, to his blissfully people-free apartment, to his cats and TV, and drown in beer and self-pity. He thanks god that for once the show is in his hometown, Chicago, and he doesn't have to drive across the country to feel alone and safe.  
Almost everyone is gone from the backstage, and those who are not, are now making agreements about going out for a few drinks. Colt is also invited, but talking to people and pretending to be his usual careless sunny self is now far beyond his capabilities, so he enters his supposedly empty locker room and slides down the door. The room is dark, it smells of sweat and blood, and no matter how much Colt wants to get out of there, he needs to catch a breath. Something moves in the darkness, and when he jumps to turn on the light, he sees Punk curled up in the corner, using his hoodie as a pillow and a big towel as a blanket.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Punk is annoyed and embarrassed to be seen like that, but he'd never admit that, especially to Colt. "Getting ready for beddie byes, so get your stuff and be gone."

"Here?"Colt raises his eyebrows. "Don't you have, I don't know, a _home_, considering you live in this city?"

"I don't," Punk snaps angrily, and immediately wants to bite off his tongue for admitting that.

"What happened?"

"Careful there, Cabana," Punk narrows his eyes, slowly getting up. "Or did you forget that you're my bestest buddy and loyal sidekick on the_ other_ side of the camera?"

Hurtful as it is, Punk is speaking the truth. Their famous friendship is no more than an on-screen gimmick, and the moment cameras are off and they are in their locker room, Punk distances himself from Colt.

"Whoah, dude, relax. I didn't mean to offend you."

"I know you didn't," Punk sighs. "It's just too many shit happening around these days. Got kicked out of my place because I was twenty bucks short for my rent, and I can't stay at Cassie's because well… she's on stuff again and her newest asshole of a boyfriend doesn't really like me."

This is the longest speech Punk has ever given to Colt on his personal matters. While surprised, he doesn't want to blow it off.

"You could stay at my place," he offers, an immediate impulse, and instantly wishes to punch himself in the face. Why on earth would he deliberately sentence himself to a torture like this? But the words are said, and from the hopeful look Punk gives him Colt realizes there is no way to back off - Punk's eyes are full of pain and sadness and, for a change, _trust_ in someone.

* * *

However, the mood instantly changes the moment Colt picks up his stuff and tells Punk to follow him to his car. They get in, and Colt turns on the music immediately to cover the awkward silence that hangs between them. If there's anything Colt is good at, it's mindless chatter, but all his jokes and eloquence seem to be gone on vacation when he's with Punk, and somehow he thinks that a pointless small talk is not what Punk is up for. Colt watches Punk stretch in his seat, arms folded, positioned as far away from him as the limited space allows it, and Colt waits for some snarky comments about his taste in music, but Punk says nothing. He frowns when Colt goes over the speed limit, his frown goes deeper when he notes Colt is not using turn signals, and he just sighs disapprovingly when Colt almost hits a door mirror of a nearby car while parking over two spaces in the yard.  
Colt waits for "you can't drive for shit" or something similar, but again, there is not a single word from Punk. It seems to Colt that he is angry, mostly at himself, for sharing something actually private, for appearing weak in front of someone else, for agreeing to accept help. Punk is too proud and stubborn for his own good, and Colt can just hope his own actions won't make Punk shut off completely; he is curious to find out more about him, to take a glimpse of what hides behind his cocky attitude, but it's not just mere curiosity. He honestly wants to help him.

That's how it always begins, he smiles to himself when they enter his apartment and he heads the welcoming meows of his only true friends. He had picked them all from the streets, five stray cats with sad stories to tell if they could, and this is exactly what Punk is to him now – another lost creature to take care, to comfort and give all the love he is capable of. It takes a lot of time to gain the trust of the broken, but once they allow you to approach, they repay your kindness tenfold. And Colt knows it is always worth waiting and fighting for.

When Punk doesn't even comment on the amount of cats in Colt's apartment, which would be a very easy shoot, he realizes the whole taming the stray thing could be even more complicated than he thought.

"You get yourself comfortable in the guest bedroom," he says waving in the general direction of it, not really expecting a response.

"You have a fucking _guest bedroom_," Punk widens his eyes. "Just how the hell did you manage-"

"Parents, dude," Colt raises his hands in defense."Nothing I could do."

"You say as if it's been forced upon you," Punk frowns and adds, "You rich fuck," but it doesn't sound offensive in the slightest; this is just the way Punk jokes around.

"Shut up and go get a shower, ghetto trash," Colt retorts in the same manner, "And I will make dinner."

"You can _cook_?!" Punk's eyes widen even more, and the shocked expression on his face is just too hilarious for Colt not to burst into laughter.

"Of course I can cook. I'm a grown-ass man with a family to keep," He points at his cats. "Now skedaddle."

"If your cooking is just as your driving, I'd better starve to death," Colt hears Punk mumble as he makes way to the bathroom. "Because that was godawful."

* * *

They actually get into talking after the dinner as they watch TV in the living room, nothing too personal, at least Punk seems to think so, and Colt is happy his newest stray is feeling comfortable. That is, until Punk touches the topic of relationships.

"So, got a girlfriend, Cabana?" It doesn't sound like he has some ulterior thoughts behind the question, he just seems genuinely curious.

"Who would ever as much as look at me?" He tries to laugh it off, but Punk is more stubborn.

"Don't be ridiculous. Who wouldn't?" Colt's heart ships a beat as a tiny little hope lights up.

"It's not really my area anyway," He says.

Punk gives him a puzzled look.

"I'm gay," Colt is forced to explain.

"Oh. _Oh._" Punk's face changes immediately; his expression is a mixture of disappointment, sudden realization of something horrible and… fear? Colt is puzzled. He thought Punk was open-minded about this kind of thing, and Colt has never made that big of a secret about his preferences, so why does Punk react like that?

"This is how it is," Punk mutters and nods, as if deciding something for himself. "Better let's get to it, then."

"Get to_ what_?"

"To what you brought me here for. To why you bothered to shelter me and even _feed_ me," Punk spits out, angrily and spitefully, and removes his t-shirt.

It only occurs to Colt what he means by that when Punk gets on his knees and starts to unfasten the belt of Colt's pants. It takes immense amount of self-control to pull his hands away, because god knows how many times he has dreamed about it and there is nothing he wants more, but not the way Punk perceives it. Something made Punk think that this is demanded of him for staying at his place. It is so wrong and disgusting, and Colt is filled with an immediate desire to kill whoever broke Punk like this.

"Phil. No." He gasps, shocked. "I'm not… I mean, what the fuck, I'm not going to treat you like that, stop it right _now_!"

Punk freezes.

His stare is completely unreadable, and there is no telling what he means when he says, getting up from his knees:

"You keep surprising me, Colt."

And then, while Colt still sits on the couch with his half unfastened belt, trying to figure out just what the fuck exactly happened, voice reaches him from the door to the guest bedroom:

"And don't call me Phil. Ever again."

He wakes up early next morning to the smell of fresh coffee, and after a short shower he finds Punk still in his apartment, fixing some sort of breakfast.

"Thanks," Colt says taking the mug from the table in front of him."You didn't have to."

"That is the _least _I could do," is the response, and Colt blushes heavily remembering last night.

This doesn't seem to be an issue with Punk, because he casually sits in front of Colt and pours some milk in his cereal.

"I'm going to work now, and I'm already fucking late, so I'll come to pick the rest of my stuff later on today," He says. "Or just drop them by the door if you plan on going out. There's nothing valuable there anyway."

Colt has been thinking all night through, and he believes that he has come up with the right decision when he takes a deep breath and spills out:

"You don't have to take it. In fact, you can bring the rest of your stuff here."

Punk just chuckles.

"I don't think I can afford the rent for this place, but thanks for thought."

"Dude. There is no rent. I _own_ this place."

"And you wouldn't mind…?" There is that look again, the one he has seen last night in the locker room, where Punk let down his defense walls, that hopeful and hurt look that makes Colt's heart melt.

"Of course not. "

When Punk closes the door behind him, Colt can't help himself but to smile at one of his cats sitting on the counter with a questioning look aimed at him.

"It seems we've got another one," he says, hoping that his one particular stray would let Colt to help him too.

* * *

Heavens, I adore this pairing so much but I get a total writer's block when it comes to them! Please let me know what you think of it, it will mean a world to me!


	2. No good deed goes unpunished

First off, I really did not expect so many of you reading, reviewing and following this story. I thought I'm one of very few who are into this pairing. Thank you SO very much for your support!  
It really means a lot to me. I got really self-conscious for some reason, and this chapter got deleted and re-written so many times it's ridiculous. This is why it took me so long. I really hope you will enjoy this final version of it.

* * *

**Chapter 2: No good deed goes unpunished**

Colt casually goes around the house, his usual routine, a bit of workout and a trip to a pool while he nervously awaits Punk to return from work with the rest of his stuff. He turns in to the store on his way back from the pool to get things for dinner; he intends to make a traditional Chicago deep dish pizza from scratch, and he also gets some beer for himself to wash it down with. He gets Pepsi for Punk. He has stalked him long enough to know his passionate love for the drink, if the Pepsi logo tattoo is not enough of a giveaway.

And of course, ice cream.

Colt knows that he probably shouldn't, that he actually _definitely_ shouldn't, that he already is fat as it is, and that some unscheduled pizza and ice cream are not going to make it any better. He can only imagine the sheer amount of exercise he will have to go through to compensate all that, but he just can't help himself. That is the cost he is willing to pay for his guilty pleasures. _Besides,_ he thinks, _no matter how much I will control myself, work out and no matter how good I look, there is absolutely no chance it will get me anywhere. Unless I grow a pair of boobs and a vagina. _He has no idea what has gotten into him, to be lusting for a straightest guy around like this, and the fact that he is going to share an apartment with the said guy is definitely not going to make things easier. Colt has realized long ago that his feelings towards Punk were not just mere lust, and last night just strengthened the way he felt about him. All Colt wants is to take care of Punk, protect him from his inner demons, prove that he is to be trusted. He is absolutely ready to take this weight on his shoulders, he knows he can manage, for now and all the time in the world to come.

If only Punk needed that.

If only Punk needed anything or anyone in his life at all.

Colt would be glad to be anything for him. To provide him with anything he would ever wanted or needed. To be there for him, be there _with _him, through everything life might throw at them, because god knows, it has thrown a lot on Punk. Too much, when you think about it, actually: horrible family conditions, drinking abusive father and an asshole of a brother, a mother who always loved Mike more. A new family, three awesome sisters, seem to have compensated that for Punk, but nothing will ever heal the wounds he had from his very childhood. He has carried them all through the school, where he was bullied and mocked for his same old clothes, weird hobbies and never healing bruises, he has brought those and even more wounds to wrestling, his biggest passion, and even here he stood alone, never understood, appreciated or accepted. He has suffered way too much for him to handle all alone.

Colt can only imagine all the things Punk has suffered that he doesn't know of.

This is why he is ready to be the very thing Punk needs the most.

A friend.

He has no idea how he is going to contain his _other _feelings, the ones which are way less friendly, the ones Punk most certainly would not appreciate. Colt would never let himself bother Punk even more, cause him more problems and worries, and he definitely could not handle Punk shutting off from him. If he would as much as dare to touch him more than it is necessary, Punk would punch him in the face, run away and then feel guilty for what he's done. Because that's Punk for you.

And then of course, there is Natalie.

Colt has seen her backstage, pretty girl, all tattoos and piercings, straight edge, all rebellious and determined, just like Punk. If there is anyone who could make him happy, it would be Natalie, because she really seems to understand and care for Punk. And Punk seems to love her. Despite all the jealousy, Colt begrudgingly has to admit that Natalie is the one who makes Punk happy. And as long as she does, Colt is okay with her presence in his life.

With these thoughts Colt enters his apartment, and is surprised to hear the sounds of TV from the living room. Punk is home. He appears to be talking to someone, but no one replies, and when Colt silently peeks in, he sees Punk stretched out on the couch with Sniffles curled up on his chest, commenting the Monday Night RAW to her.

"Did you just see that? What kind of a god-awful move was that?! I'm better than all of them combined," he says. "You just wait and see, cat, I'm gonna be there one day."

_I know you will_, thinks Colt, he knows Punk will make it big, that Punk will have it all.

"Her name is Sniffles, not cat," he makes his presence known, and Punk jumps from the couch pushing the cat down on the floor. He doesn't like to be sneaked upon, and he certainly hates to be seen what he thinks is a vulnerable and weak position.

"Hey darling, welcome home," He grins. The word _darling _makes Colt heart skip a beat, but he knows Punk didn't mean it that way. Or any way at all.

"Hello honey, what's for dinner?" He plays along and is immediately amused by Punk's terrified expression.

"Hey, you're the cooking one. I'm the dish-washing one."

"Well, you better get morally prepared then. We're having a deep-dish."

Fast forward two hours, and there they are, sharing a couch, with Sniffles back on her apparently new favorite spot, Punk's chest. They watch some late night's show, lazily exchanging some snarky comments about what's going on screen, both tired and stuffed, but there is one thing that Colt can't stop thinking about.

"Punk, we need to talk." He says, hesitantly but he just has to get it off his chest.

"What's the matter? Did you already got sick and tired of me waddling around in your apartment and laying on your couches and cuddling with your cats?" Punk lifts his head just enough to look at Colt.

"No. It's 'bout your first night here."

"Thank god. You almost made it sound as if it was something serious."  
Colt lets that one pass.

"So, what about it?" Punk impatiently asks, obviously not wanting this conversation last any longer than it is necessary. He seems tensed up and alert, and Colt changes his train of thought immediately.

"Just wanted to say that the next time you need help, you should come to me, not sleep like a bum at arena."

"Yeah… This is _so _not what you wanted to talk about." Punk sees right through Colt's intentions, he always does, and it's barely surprising, because Colt is always an open book to read.

"Yeah. No, it isn't. The way you reacted to me saying…. Um… you know. And then you almost blew me off and…"

"Colt, I'm not gay."

"Can't know unless you've tried," Colt tries to laugh it off, trying the ground along the way.

"Oh but I have," Suddenly Punk voice gets a distinct trace of anger and contempt.

"I'm guessing you didn't like it."

"It wasn't _exactly _about me liking it, you know."

"If you want to get that off your chest, I'm here for you." Colt says gently, he has suspected that kind of an answer, he doesn't want to interfere in Punk's personal tragedies too much, but he also wants him to know that he is the one he can come to.

"I know. But now the only thing I want to get off my chest is this cat of yours. Because I'm going to bed."

And so he does.

* * *

It all gets very complicated very fast.

Colt wouldn't say that living with Punk is all that bad. As a flatmate, he is perfect. They have a long break from shows ahead of them now, Punk resting from all the mess with Raven and Colt… Well, Colt doesn't really have all that much to do when Punk is not involved in the ring activities. He feels like a shadow of Punk when they are on stage or making a promo, and when those were the only times he would be with him, it seemed alright. Now he has to exist as a separate person, his own man, with Punk still beside him, and he doesn't know exactly how to deal with it.

He goes to the gym and trainings and pool, he meets up with friends, he cooks when he returns home, he watches TV with his cats, and it is all not that bad until Punk returns from work. Evenings together are the toughest, he never knows how to act not embarrassing himself, he still wants to make a good impression on him, but the other side of him just wants to run away screaming, the further from Punk the better. He tries to keep it minimally personal to compromise with his both sides, but it's not working out too well.

Just how exactly is he supposed to help Punk when he can't even deal with his own bullshit?

For some unknown reason, Punk's not having any of it. Out of spite, maybe, he always tries to drag him into conversations and going out together, he keeps trying to get under Colt's skin, and he's not the nicest guy around when it comes to that, because some of the questions or hints are downright embarrassing.

Like that time Punk asked whether it was true that Colt blew Hero backstage when the show was over.

Or that time when he was curious about just how exactly Jewish Colt was.

Colt shivers remembering. He has no idea where does Punk get all those rumors and questions from, but there is a strong suspicion that he just messes with him. Just for the hell of it.

Awkward moments and laughs after them, it all does help them come to terms with their building up friendship, however, and they have their fun, so living with Punk sometimes seems like the absolute best idea to ever cross Colt's mind. Punk helps him clean the place and do the laundry, and even though he still can't cook for shit, he compensates it with driving them around for groceries and other needs, and Colt just smiles at Punk's relief when he's allowed to do so.

Spending so much time with Punk is both a reward and a punishment for Colt, and he can't help but to feel like a sick masochist, doing this to himself. It is a reward, because Punk is so cute when he smiles and when he frowns, so insightful when they watch wrestling together, so supporting when they exercise, so fun to be around at all times.

It is a punishment for all the same reasons.

And for one more.

On their sixth day of living together Colt returns home after a workout just to hear unambiguous moans and sighs from the kitchen. It is too late for him to turn around and run as he would like to. Punk holds Natalie against the counter, her lean long legs wrapped around his waist, the way Colt's never could, her head is thrown back, eyes closed, lips letting out sluttiest moans possible.

Colt hates to look at it.

But he still does.

Punk's jeans are tangled around his ankles, he didn't even bother to take them off, his hips rocking back and forth, his lips and teeth on Natalie's collarbone.

Colt loves to look at it.

But he quickly sneaks to his room.

Of all masochistic things he has put himself through since Punk moved in this one is definitely the sickest, he realizes wiping off the shame from his stomach just moments later.

* * *

Thank you for reading, and please tell me how was it! Your support = my happiness :)


	3. CM is for Chick Magnet

It is unusual for me to have such lengthy breaks between the chapters. Sorry for that, but life got hold of me and at the moment I just can't handle it at all. This is why I probably messed up royally this time. Oh well. It will get better. Just bear with me.  
Thanks for following and reviewing, and I hope you will enjoy this one too!

* * *

**Chapter 3: CM is for Chick Magnet**

Crawling out of his room few hours later must have been the hardest thing Colt has ever done. He listens carefully, waiting for the moment when it is safe to go out. It takes some time; he hears progressingly loud moans from the kitchen followed by a heavy sigh, and he curses his paper-thin walls once again. Colt feels very much conflicted by the situation: he could call out on Punk's behavior and ask him never to bring his girlfriends when he's home to prevent himself from witnessing any embarrassing scenarios; on the other hand, the jealousy gets the better of him when he halfheartedly wishes to kick Punk out of his place for good, to tell him to get out and screw Natalie all he wants somewhere else, preferably few blocks from here.

He doesn't do either of those things.

Instead, he lies in his bed staring at the ceiling, sighing heavily, and wishes this nightmare to be over.

This is when the voices in the kitchen start to rise almost to the level of screaming. It is obvious that the couple has somehow managed to proceed from passionate sex to a no less passionate argument, and Colt does his best not to listen to it.

It is pretty hard, though, due to his goddamned paper walls, so he turns on his stomach and puts a pillow above his head. No matter how curious he is to find out what exactly is happening, he doesn't want to invade Punk's privacy like that. If he feels like sharing, he will do so on his own free will.

The door smashes shortly after, but Colt still waits for good two hours before he decides that the area is safe to enter. He finds Punk in the living room, composed after what happened before, watching TV, but it doesn't seem to hold his attention at all. He jumps up when he hears Colt's steps, it always startles him and Colt finds it absolutely hilarious how Punk can dive into a state of complete ignorance of his surroundings. The tattooed blonde gets up from the couch and gives Colt an awkward, apologetic look.

"Sorry for… um… earlier. Nat came over and it sort of… escaladed." He says rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Don't sweat it, man, it's totally fine," Colt reassures him, cursing his damned soft-heartedness once again, as he adds, "It's as much your place now as it is mine, so feel free to do whatever the hell you want."

"I'm not going to," Punk sighs and it somehow sounds sad. "She sort of dumped me."

"Must be one god-awful fuck you've given her if she dumped your ass right after it."

"It's not that," Punk sighs and falls back on the couch."It's not that simple."

"What is it then?"

Punk sighs once again, as if preparing for something, and gives out the longest monologue Colt has ever heard from him on such a personal matter.

"I wasn't enough for her. I wasn't good enough for her…" Punk shakes his head and continues. "No, not this. We just probably weren't right for each other… In the end, she's just like all the rest. She didn't understand me. I, apparently, was never there for her. I forgot her god damned birthday last week, and I didn't remember it today either, but how's that a problem in any way?" At this point, Punk seems to get really frustrated, and Colt almost regrets bringing up the matter.

"I had a match to win, a show to prepare to. I have my own life and she has hers, I mean, you don't see me interrupting her baking sessions and conventions just because it's some fucking birthday! I thought we had a deal on that. I'm a good friend, she said, but a shitty boyfriend."

"So we decided to stay friends. And you know, I'd be totally cool with that, but you don't get to fuck your friends, do you?"

_You don't_, thinks Colt bitterly.

No matter how much he would like to raise his hopes, he knows that nothing is going to change with Punk now single again. If anything, it just gonna make the matters worse; available, but not achievable Punk right under his nose at all times, the realization of how close and how far he is from Punk is definitely going to break him. Because now they _are _close, especially with Punk sharing more and more personal stuff with him now. Colt is not sure how much longer can he hold his feelings back, how much longer can he pretend that friendship is all he wants, how long can he continue torturing himself like this. He knows it will all burst out, very soon; actually, the sooner the better, and even though the outcome is defined, some part of him wishes to end this misunderstanding of a friendship.

On the other hand, he wants to keep Punk by his side for as long as the other man will want him to.

"You know, maybe you should go for someone with similar background and interests. Someone who would understand you, someone more _deserving _than Nat," Colt offers, not even caring how obvious he sounds. _Deserving,_ he sneers at himself. Who is he trying to fool? No matter how much he would like it to be otherwise, he certainly does _not_ deserve Punk. He is too fat and clumsy, too stupid and awkward, and Punk deserves someone more of his species, someone as gifted, beautiful and determined as he is.

But that doesn't make Colt stop hoping.

"As a matter of fact, I just might," Punk smiles at him, seemingly oblivious to the hint.

"Have someone particular in mind?" Now Colt sounds just downright pathetic. He realizes Punk is not picking up on the topic, but he himself is disgusted by how hopeless he is.

"Two, actually."

"Wow, you're not wasting time like at all, are you?"

Punk chuckles.

"Chick magnet, gotta keep that up you know," He laughs and Colt completely adores the way the little smile lines form up around his mouth and eyes. He could admire that all day long, but Punk notices the stare and lightly frowns. "Also, I can't really be alone for long. Just not my style."

"So, who are they?"

"Well, you know my obsession with Harley Quinn," Punk laughs again, "So I figured I might as well hit on our dear fellow Saint, Lucy, even though I call her Claire just to avoid all the confusion with her countless names. She does seem pretty understanding, doesn't she?"

This is a bad idea. It is such a bad idea, the Colt squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. Punk doesn't know how horrible of an idea it is, and Colt doesn't realize he's said it out loud until Punk asks:

"Why? What is wrong with her?"

"She… Isn't she like, thirty or something?" This is the only objection Colt dares to voice. Punk doesn't have to know the true reasons of him resenting Claire.

"Yeah… I like my girls older than me. Experience and all," Punk smirks at him. "Also, they keep me… grounded. And then there's another. A character of his own, that one," Punk smiles. "Nothing I've ever seen before."

He is looking at Colt.

Why is he looking at Colt?

It does not seem particularly encouraging. It certainly does not seem inviting, but suddenly they are so close that it doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter that this is probably completely not what Punk had in mind, because his gaze appears so hypnotizing to Colt, that he just can't stand it anymore.

He always thought that certain things are better shown than told.

His stomach jolts and heart rate increases as he slowly leans in forward and reaches out for Punk. There is a slight trace of uncertainty in Punk's glance now, which would have been discouraging, but now Colt decides, _fuck it._  
Their lips are very close and for a spit second Colt just hovers there, waiting for Punk to pull back or punch him, or say something, but nothing happens.  
He brushes his lips, very lightly, very carefully. And then again and again.

No obstacles.

No reaction.

Colt repeats his awkward manipulations, not kisses, not yet, and this is when Punk closes his eyes. There is a tiny gasp he draws, almost inaudible, but it is more than enough to give Colt the courage to finally press their lips together, fully and almost possessively, and the intensity of the kiss just skyrockets form there. Colt's hands are now in Punk's hair, pulling him in, he is overcome by the need to be much, much closer, the need he has been suppressing for so long. He finally runs his tongue along Pun's lower lip, stopping for a while on the piercing, asking for entrance.

Punk pulls back.

He hates to feel out of control, and for once he definitely isn't the one in charge, he is almost angry at himself for letting being kissed by Colt, for actually encouraging and responding.

Colt reads it all in Punk's hazel gaze now fixed to his.

He has nothing to say, even though thousands of words and excuses rush through his mind. But for once he doesn't want to run away from his actions. He doesn't think there is anything he should apologize for.

"This was so wrong, Cabana, don't even get me started," Punk says, raising his eyebrow and getting up from the couch. "I mean, very cute of you and all, but no. Just no."

He slowly backs away, not turning his back to Colt, as if scared that the bigger man would attack him again.

_This is how it probably seemed to him,_ Colt thinks. _God damn it, Cabana, you're not even able to kiss the person you love properly, without freaking them out._

"I think I'm gonna stick to _another _Saint for now." Punk says, still in disbelief of what just happened, and disappears in the doorway.

Daffney. Of course.

Of all people, why it had to be _her_?

Hurt and disappointed, Colt knows he has to do his best to protect his friend from something far worse than a break-up he has just suffered.

Daffney.

* * *

"Heyyy Scotty!" A chipper vice greets him from the other side of the phone, and Colt just frowns at how annoying he finds it. "Finally changed your mind about me?"

"Not gonna happen, Daff. We've been through this." He can just sense her pouting there, lovely painted face grimacing and little twisted mind weaving nasty evil plans towards him. "I just want to ask you to stay away from Punk."

There is a short pause, and then:

"D'aww, is my little Scotty in lo-ove?" Colt just grinds his teeth at that. Suffering through Daffney's mockery has become something he has grown to be accustomed to, and there was nothing else he could do but to suffer it through.

"Seriously, Daff. Please."

"Never even had any thoughts of our ever so awesome Saints leader, Scot, to be honest with you here. But now when you mention it..." She takes a pause. "No can do, sweetie. Now I just have to. Out of spite. And who knows, you might even get jealous," She giggles.

"Daffney, you know I won't. We really _have_ been through this."

"Girl can hope, right, Scotty? I mean, you would know, of all people."

Colt just closes his eyes helplessly. Honestly, what was he expecting…? Daffney was crazy and he knew it. She was worse than crazy, she was uncontrollable psychopath, at least that's how it always seemed to him.

"Well, it was nice chatting to you anyway. Hugs and kisses, and give my love to Phillip. Not to foreshadow anything, but… gotta give 'em hope, right?" With these words she hands up and for a while Colt just listens to beeps in the phone.

He lies in bed, knowing that the sleep wouldn't come, he thinks about what happened earlier today, and he can't believe matters have managed to turn this much worse. The stress of making the first move, the disappointment of rejection, the fear of Punk's heart being broken again... He knows he won't be able to fall asleep, but it is the only thing he has left to do.

Sleep and hope that tomorrow will be better.

* * *

Okay, I intended a slower build-up, but I just couldn't resist. Hopefully it didn't seem rushed, but I thought that one can stand the tension just for so long. Please tell me how was it! Everything you have to say matters greatly to me!


	4. Someone else's someone else

I am very sorry for holding it up for this long. But real life is being a bitch – I recently said my last goodbyes to the love of my life and my best friend (all in one, surprisingly enough), and most of the time I'm just a horrible pile of depressed goo. This story initially was inspired by my own feelings, when I was dealing with being friendzoned, so it's kind of a tough subject to write.

Ok, enough with personal stuff, you're here for the story, so (hopefully) enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 4: Someone else's someone else**

Minutes melt into hours and hours – into days, but it still doesn't get better. At some point Colt just stops hoping that anything ever will get better, and just goes with the flow, like a thoughtless tumbleweed, making his way from one morning to another, through the sleepless nights and stressless days.

He seems to be not the only one with insomnia, Punk barely sleeps at all, and soon the two learn to make the best of the time that they waste anyway. Instead of lying in bed and aimlessly staring at the ceiling, Colt and Punk spend their sleepless hours together, watching TV, playing videogames or just talking.

The distance grows smaller. The topics grow more intimate.

Too bad nothing really changes and nothing really matters except for the fact that this is probably the closest they would ever get. Colt tries his best to convince himself that this is exactly what he was going for from the very beginning. That he has sworn to himself never to hope or want or ask for anything more than friendship. That he once said to himself that being Punk's friend is all he would ever ask for. It is not surprising at all how the kiss Colt managed to steal gets forgotten very soon. In fact, it's never mentioned again, as if it never happened. Colt has noticed over the time that Punk is especially good at running away and forgetting the stuff he didn't particularly like. Natalie's name is never mentioned again either, so Colt just guesses Punk isn't really good at break-ups or staying friends, and extremely efficient in avoiding stuff he doesn't like.

"So, you're with Daff, then?" Colt asks one of these nights, when all the watchable stuff on TV has finished and neither of them can get to sleep, but it's ok, they have nowhere to hurry, nothing to wake up for.

Punk throws him a glance from the side, as if saying _this is none of your fucking business, _few days ago he would have totally said it, but it was back then and now they are… flatmates? Friends? Whatever. Colt reminds himself again not to concern himself with analyzing their relationship.

"In a way," He still manages to avoid a direct answer. "We're kind of on hanging out-movies-dinners-walking home part of a relationship now."

"Adorable."

"Not really."

"Why not? I thought you liked her enough to go through all of that crap." Colt asks, confused, but not really surprised. From his own experience he knows that things _never _go smoothly with Daffney, no matter whether it's friendship or a relationship; but he is, in fact, happy about it – he firmly believes that she is the last person Punk needs in his life. Daffney has an outstanding talent for messing up people's lives. It's not entirely her fault, though; she is a psychotic bitch, yes, but she usually just falls for all the wrong people. Like, for example, Colt.

They've known each other for a while, long before the SCS were formed, and she'd fallen for Colt immediately, for no apparent reason, deeply and passionately, and haven't shown any signs of getting over him ever since. Of course, Colt had let her know about his preferences right away, he never wanted or intended to give her false hopes, but she was too stubborn. She had never given up the hope of getting to Colt, and now it seemed more of an unhealthy obsession than a crush. She'd ruined some of his previous relationships that way, and now, apparently, she was going for Punk.

"Speaking of Claire. We're going to a rock bar tomorrow night, me and her and some of the friends," Punk continues in the meanwhile, "Wanna join?"

"Not really in a partying mood, sorry." Seeing Punk with Daffney is definitely the last thing he needs right now. Especially knowing how it will all end for Punk.

"C'mon man," Punk playfully nudges his shoulder, "Chris and Cide and Joe are coming. Ace too. Promised to hook them up with some friends of Claire's; maybe she's got nice guy-friends as well."

Colt tries to give Punk the _you've gotta be fucking kidding me _look, but when he turns his face towards his friend, Punk is smiling; it is such a warm, open and almost _loving_ smile, that Colt's heart freezes for a second, and all objections disappear from his head. He has never been able to refuse when Punk smiles like this, and this time is no exception.

"…Sure." _Whatever you say, just keep smiling like this, and I will do anything you'll ask of me._

The rest of the night dissolves in some more mindless chatter, and Punk is the first one to pass out, his head leaning on Colt's shoulder, looking so absolutely calm and peaceful and unbelievably cute, that Colt doesn't have it in himself to get up and wake him up. He stays awake, listening to Punk's soft breathing, damning his existence once again, before he falls asleep too.

* * *

"I need the bathroom too, you know!" Colt hears Punk shout from the other side of the door. It is Friday night, and they are getting ready for a night out in a bar with Daff and friends. That is, _Colt _is getting ready; Punk just puts on the least ragged jeans and the cleanest t-shirt and he's done. He never puts much effort into looking good, and somehow it works for him, everything works for him, but Colt has to try really hard not to look like shit compared to him.

"Five minutes," He yells back, but Punk's not having any of it.

"If you're not out of there in five _seconds_, I'll pee in your shoe."

"Jesus, what's with the threats? I'm coming," Colt mumbles, opening the door, and faces Punk, who gives him a wide grin.

"Seriously, Cabana, I've known girls who get ready faster than you. You look good anyway, so put on your shoes and let's get going."

Colt blushes at the compliment, but luckily Punk already shut the bathroom door and doesn't see him standing there, bright red and smiling like an idiot.

The bar is crowded when they get there, it's dark and smokey and Colt can't see shit, but luckily for them Daffney sees them first and screams in greeting from the other side of the room.

The company is mixed, but they seem to be having fun. Daff's friends look like two more sane copies of her – less makeup, less noisy and way more clothing; Colt couldn't tell them apart, but both girls seem to be engaged in conversation with Chris and Joe, while Homicide sits slightly apart from all of them, engaged in the staring contest with the bottle of whiskey, apparently suffering through another breakup with another girlfriend. They're all used to that and no one pays much attention; it is common that Cide gets more communicable with more alcohol in his body. What amuses Colt is how one of Daffney's friends is basically throwing herself at Chris, and while he honestly can't blame her, he still finds it funny. _You're barking up the wrong tree, sister, _he thinks ironically and this is when he notices Ace.

The man is also positioned himself a bit away from the rest and by the way his bright blue eyes are piercing Daffney, it is quite obvious why. He can't stop looking at her; he briefly nods in acknowledgement of Punk's and Colt's presence, but the focuses his stare on her again. He barely says a word all the time they spend there, just drinks one beer after another, keeping his watchful eye on Daffney as she kisses Punk and eventually manages to drag him out to dance.

Colt realizes he's not alone in his jealousy.

This is why he joins Ace's quest for finding relief in the drunken haze. They are getting drunk with such a surprising speed and determination that even Cide gives them a surprised look.

Sober Colt is awkward and clumsy, but drunk Colt is all of that tenfold plus incredible talkativeness and inability to think before speaking. It has been a cause of many of his problems, almost every time he goes out and gets drunk he gets in trouble for saying wrong things to wrong people, and this night is no exception.

Punk leaves Daffney on the dance floor with her girlfriends, and one of them immediately grabs Chris's hand. Hero throws Colt a glance, begging for help, but Colt answers him with a _you brought this upon yourself _look and focuses his attention on Punk, who throws himself on a stool next to him, breathing heavily.

"Not afraid to leave your girl among those savages?" Colt asks, hinting at Joe and Cide, who finally managed to get away from his whiskey and socialize.

"Nah, I trust her," Punk grins. "Crazy chick, but knows the limits."

"So, is it serious between you two?"

"You seem awfully concerned," Punk smirks at him, but answers nonetheless. "No, I wouldn't say so. I mean, I _do _like her, but neither of us are too involved in this."

Thoughts race in Colt's head, but before he manages to gather them and not say anything stupid, it is too late.

"So, if I'd ask you out…?

Punk's hand with the can of Pepsi freezes mid-air.

"I'd say no."

"Why?" Colt blurts out, instantly regretting asking Punk out in the first place, but since he can't put words back in his mouth, he figures that _in for a penny, in for a pound._

Punk finally lifts his eyes and bright hazel stare meets Colt's light brown. Something in his stare softens when he sees just how miserable Colt looks.

"Let's not make it complicated, Cabana. You're drunk and you'll regret it all tomorrow, so let's just pretend that you didn't ask that and I didn't answer your question."

"I'm calling it a night, guys," He shouts to Daffney and friends, getting up from the stool. "I'd advice you do the same, or else you'll have to find someone to get you home." He says that to Colt and makes it to the door.

But Colt stays. He definitely doesn't feel like experiencing an awkward silence all the way home in the car with Punk, when he can get more drunk instead.

"What have you done to Punk?" this is Ace, Colt realizes, and it probably the first time he talks this night.

"I tried asking him out." Colt has nothing to hide from Ace, he has known about his feelings for Punk from their very beginning, and even then Colt didn't have to say a word. Ace always been very insightful and just as good at keeping secrets.

"And he said no."

"Of course."

They stay silent for a while.

"You don't seem all that happy either," Colt notes.

"I just didn't know Punk's with Daffney now. Whatever happened to Natalie? Weren't they dating for, like, three years or something?"

"They broke up. Or, to be more precise, she dumped his ass."

"Who in their right mind would dump Punk?"

"My thoughts exactly, boys," Daffney appears in front of them, holding a beer, and collapses in Ace's lap. Ace's expression is priceless, an amazing mixture of embarrassment, shock and happiness, but he doesn't seem all too comfortable with it, so Colt decides to save the situation.

"Daff, I need to talk to you. In person."

Her eyebrows raise but she doesn't object when Colt drags her outside of the bar. He has had this plan figured some time ago, and now seeing Ace's feelings towards Daffney his idea just seemed more realizable.

"If it's about Punk again," Daffney says leaning on the cold wall outside of the bar, "you can forget it. I'm actually having fun with the kid."

"Daff, please, just listen to me." Colt must have taken a level in convincing, because Daffney actually shuts up and listens, pouting, but quiet.

"I know you don't love him. Hell, I'm not even sure you _like _him, Daff. He's not your kind of guy. He doesn't take it all too seriously too, you know. I' sure you don't care, as long as it's something that hurts _me, _the person who broke your heart in the first place. But why don't you think about yourself first, Daff? Why don't you actually let yourself be happy?"

Interest sparks in Daffney's eyes, replacing the sadness there was since Colt has mentioned her heart being broken.

"Why don't you go for a guy who actually is in love with you, a guy who will care for you and never let your heart be broken again?"

"As if there'd ever be someone like that," Daffney sighs, finally dropping her Harley Quinn act, and appearing as insecure and vulnerable as she actually is.

Colt smiles.

"Just go talk to Ace."

* * *

Colt returns home at around 4 p.m., but Punk's not sleeping. Of course he isn't, but Colt likes to think that he actually waited for him, because Punk doesn't seem to be doing anything in particular; he's pacing in circles in the kitchen, which is a complete mess, Colt notices. He doesn't remember leaving it that way, and when Punk smashes a half-full Pepsi can on the floor, he realizes what the cause of the chaos is.

"What happened?" Colt asks, even though he suspects the answer, he is concerned that Punk is taking the news so badly.

"Claire just called me."

"And?"

"And she said we're done. Just like that. No explanations, no excuses, no nothing. Just – _Punk, this was fun, but we're done._ Apparently, I'm that bad that no one can deal with me even for two weeks. I don't deserve anyone, I'm not good enough to be loved. Well, that's no news. I'm surprised _you_ can stand me, Cabana. Although feel free to go, your concern is appreciated but not needed."

Colt has nothing to say to that, he understands the pain Punk's suffering, so he just stays by his friend's side.

"Why are you still here? What do you want?" Punk spits out.

"Why do you always assume I want something? Maybe I just enjoy being with you." This probably is the lamest reply Colt could've come up with, but at least it is true.

"No you don't. Nobody does. Not when I'm like that." Punk's voice is bitter. He slides down the wall and holds his head between his knees, his shoulders shaking from silent, tearless cry.

"But I do," Colt says stubbornly, because that's what he is, stubborn and determined, even when it is completely pointless.

"Then you are even a bigger idiot than I thought, Cabana. And a masochist." Punk shoots, not raising his head.

"You know, the fact that I'm being friendly doesn't mean you can just insult me like that."

"Doesn't it? I thought it was sort of implied in that thing you people call friendship. You cook for me, I drive you around and get to call you nasty names. Isn't that how it works?"

"Punk…" Colt sits beside him and calmingly puts his hand on Punk's shoulder. He brings the tattooed guy closer and hugs him, trying his best at calming him down. "I'm really sorry to hear that it didn't work out between you and Daff. But I did tell you she's no good…"

"What I certainly don't need now is the _I told you so _speech from you, Colt, of all people," Punk finally raises his head, ant there is not a trace of tears on his face – just plain hurt and anger. "_Of course _you told me so – just because you just want to fuck me. Don't you deny in. You thought that if I wasn't with Claire, you'd get to stick your dick in me and then dump me like all the others have done before you."

Colt backs up in disbelief. This kind of speech was the least thing he has expected of Punk.

"I actually wonder whether you had to do anything with Claire breaking up with me," Punk says, getting up.

"Punkers, listen…"

"No, Cabana, I've heard enough. This is the last night I'm sleeping here. I think I've worn out my welcome."

* * *

Ooof, this has been tough!  
I anxiously await for your opinions, as always :)


	5. The other side of the moon

Okay, it was supposed to be posted yesterday, but the site was down, so yeah, there it is now.  
An update, and not even a week has passed? Wow. Ain't that something.  
Actually, you guys should all than yourselves for this chapter, because your support and reviews motivated me insanely. I am really grateful for that.  
What is it with me and ridiculously long author notes?  
I just wanted to point out that names of the chapters aren't random, as it might seem.  
That is all.

* * *

**Chapter 5: The other side of the moon**

Colt knows that the moment he wakes up in the morning is going to be one of the worst moments in his life. It's not going to be his first or worst hangover, after all, he didn't get quite as drunk as he wanted to, and now he is starting to regret it. Not only because if he'd passed out he wouldn't have talked to Daffney and Punk, but also because a more intense hangover would be able to overshadow the _other _kind of pain.

The pain Punk's leaving will cause him.

All Colt can do now is crawl to bed, put a pillow over his head and hope to god that Punk will be already gone before the moment his inevitable headache wakes him up.

All he ever wanted was for Punk to be happy, so how did he manage to mess it all up so badly?

Maybe it's for the better that Punk leaves. _Better for both of us_, Colt thinks, trying to convince himself, but a single tear absorbed by the pillow is the proof of his failure.

* * *

This being his last night here by his own decision, Punk realizes he probably should be packing up his sparse possessions and thinking where is he going to spend the remaining week before they hit the road for the tour again.

Instead, he lies in bed and does absolutely nothing to alter the shitty situation he's just gotten himself into.

He lies in Colt's bed, wrapped in Colt's sheets, wearing Colt's old t-shirt and stares at Colt's ceiling.

And thinks about… yes, Colt.

When did everything in his life started to revolve around this too-nice-to-live guy, who sheltered him, fed him, listened to him and never did anything that would make Punk doubt his loyalty and honesty?

No one ever cared for him as much as Colt did. Punk is used to be treated like shit, he is used to taking care of himself and not letting anyone close. Long ago he'd figured he doesn't deserve better, that no one will ever love him just for who he is, and he has learned to accept that. All those people who were supposed to love him by default have turned their backs at him at some point of his life, and he is certain it's his own fault.

He's just not good enough. Not good enough for his own parents, who'd better give everything to Mike instead of bothering themselves with Punk. Not good enough for his colleagues and fans, because he's so different from what they want to see. Not good enough for the girls he dates, because he can't give them what they need.

And then there's Cabana.

Cabana, who for some unknown reasons does everything to support him in every possible way, Cabana, who lets him under his roof rent-free, Cabana, who accepts Punk for who he is and never asks for anything in return.

Cabana, who, apparently is not as selfless as it would seem, because even though he rejected Punk in the very beginning, that kiss and those looks he'd send his way and how anxious he was about Punk dating Claire – it all proves that he's after nothing more than getting into Punk's pants.

It would be a mistake to assume that Punk has forgotten that time Colt kissed him, because this is one of those things he is sure he will never forget – along with his first won championship and first car, and all those scarce moments of pure happiness he had in his life so far. To say that Colt's kiss left him conflicted would be a severe understatement. He is not repulsed at all – if anything, he is shocked and surprised, because all those previous times – all those previous guys – have never bothered to kiss him. No, being with other guys is nothing new to Punk, nothing new at all, though it never has been something to enjoy or something to remember. He'd be lucky if he would get a chance to come after being properly fucked. After they would have their way with him, all he could wish for was to forget it as soon as he could. But they wouldn't let him. They would come after him, or the nightmares would – and he would end up reliving the pain, the humiliation and shame again and again, time after time, until the morning would come and he could try and move on with his life.

And then there's that kiss. So gentle, so caring and _loving_, that it almost breaks Punk's heart to relive that moment. He thinks about it more often than he should, because it makes him imagine what it would be like if someone would actually love him.

Colt stopped the very moment Punk pulled away. He never pressed him to it again. He actually asked him out – or tried to, because Punk, of course, pushed him away as fast as he could. Colt looked honestly sorry for Punk when he broke up with Nat and Claire – he was the one to warn him it wouldn't work out, and the one to pick up the pieces after Punk wouldn't listen to his advice.

Could have he misjudged Colt? Could it be that he had nothing to do with Claire breaking up with him? Could it possibly be that Colt liked him more than a possible ass to fuck?

Punk feels tears running down his cheeks right into his ears and sits up, annoyed. There was something wrong with Colt – how could he possibly have fallen for something as messed up and miserable as him?

In fact, there was something wrong with Punk himself, but he'd be damned if he'd ever admit that. He was never the crying type – he couldn't even remember the last time he cried.

He never cried when his dad would get drunk and beat him into a bloody mess.

He never cried when he was bullied and made fun of in school.

He didn't cry when Mike robbed him blind and run away with everything Punk worked so hard for.

He never cried when he was raped or forced into giving himself for a shelter, a few bucks, or, hell, even a plate of hot meal.

He never cried. Why now? He always thought it being pointless; crying never helped anyone or solved anything. But this time it wasn't about solving something.

It's about seeking relief.

* * *

Colt realizes that falling asleep is _not _going to happen around 7 a.m., after twisting and turning in bed for three pointless hours, and decides he might as well get up and to something useful. Like, for example, clean the mess Punk has made in his rage earlier.

Just about when kitchen finally looks as decent as it could get and Colt is fixing himself the magic anti-hangover cure consisting of sour milk and salt – disgusting, yet effective - the door to Punk's room cracks open. The tattooed blonde is fully dressed, his backpack in one hand and a sports bag in another, he closes the door and freezes mid-way between the kitchen and the exit.

"Good that you're awake," Punk says, not looking at Colt, "I didn't want to leave without saying that I'm sorry for being a complete dick last night."

"It's alright," Colt replies, also avoiding looking at Punk. "I deserved all you said."

"No you didn't, Cabana, don't start all that self-beating here," He puts his bags on the floor and approaches Colt. "You have no idea how grateful I am that you let me crash here and suffered my behavior all this time. And all I can do is to act like an asshole in return, when you did nothing but good to me," Punk sights, stroking his hair. He looks upset and nervous, it seems he hadn't slept as well, and Colt can't help but to imagine them both lying in their beds, separated by a thin wall, crying their eyes out like two complete idiots.

"Look, Punk, I'm not gonna call you an ungrateful bastard, which you totally are, and scream 'This is how you repay me'", Colt jokes, finally lifting his eyes to meet Punk's green gaze, now reddened from sleep deprivation. "I just want you to know that I, in fact, had a part in your breakup with Daffney. And before you interrupt me, yes, it was _not _a nice thing to do, but you deserve much better."

"We all know how you overestimate me, Cabana, but flattery will get you nowhere."

"She didn't even like you."

"I know. Tell me something I don't. Like, why the fuck it is any of your concern in the first place. Besides the fact that you intended to get into my ants instead of her."

Colt lets the last sentence pass without commenting on it.

"Everything that Daffney does concerns me, because she is a stubborn vengeful psycho," he says instead, finally ready to explain it all to Punk, who also seems ready to listen. His face lights up with confusion and interest, so Colt continues, "She had a crush on me for, like, forever, and didn't take rejection very well."

"…So she hooks up with whoever _you_ have a crush on."

"Would you _please _drop this subject?"

"What, are you denying it now?" Colt has a very hard time figuring out what Punk wants to say with that. He wants to hear a trace of disappointment in his voice, but he knows he's only imagining it.

"I'm saying that whatever I feel, the feelings are mine and don't concern you in the slightest, "_Nice save, _he thinks to himself, while Punk retreats to the hallway and pick up his stuff.

"You don't have to leave, you know."

"Oh yes, Cabana, I do."

"Do you even have anywhere to go?"

It's a valid point, and Punk has nothing to say to that.

"Look, you can still stay here. We're touring in a week anyway, and you can figure something out later on."

"Won't my presence, you know, break your heart or something?"

"Seriously, Punk. Drop it. And stop fiddling around with those bags."

An uneasy silence hangs between them for a while, when Punk finally turns around and looks at Colt.

"Thank you. I am so sorry, Colt, I don't deserve such a good friend as you are."

"Who's doing the self-beating now, Punkers? Get back to sleep, you look like shit."

"Might as well go for a run," Punk shakes his head. "I removed you bed sheets for laundry anyway.

"You can sleep in my bed," Colt winks, completely jokingly. He has decided never to make a pass on Punk ever again. After almost losing his friend like that, he is determined to be satisfied with friendship and friendship only. He swears to himself never to interfere in any of Punk's future relationships and never as much as hint at his own feelings towards him. Unless Punk initiates something himself, but that's never going to happen. But after their argument Colt is ready to be friendzoned for the rest of his life, just as long as it means he gets to stay by Punk's side.

"Hey, Cabana, we're cool now, but that doesn't mean I want to get in your bed all of a sudden," Punk laughs, nudging Colt's shoulder and leaving the apartment.

_Of all lies I have ever said to anyone,_ he thinks stepping outside, his heart beating in his throat, _this must be the biggest and the worst of them all._

* * *

Okay, how long will it take for them to figure out that they want the same thing? Will they ever?It's nt gonna be easy, I promise you that.

Also, to the guest reviewer. You know who I mean. Yes, you. You're awesome and I love each and every one of your reviews. And yes, in case you were wondering, I am purposely trying to please you with each chapter. ;)


	6. One step forward, two steps back

Thank you all for being so awesome, reading and commenting and all! You guys are great!  
To the guest reviewer with an exceptional love for Ace Steel. Just to clear it up – yes, I was talking about you :) Also, I hope you will enjoy the amount of Ace in this chapter. I'm not all that familiar with his character, so I hope I got him right.

* * *

**Chapter 6: One step forward, two steps back**

There is far too much bars and parties ad babysitting drunk idiots in Punk's life in past three days. It's all fun and games until someone gets punched in the face a little bit too heavily, and then it's usually up to Punk to sort the mess out, to drive them all home, and there is nothing _less _fun than trying to get 280 pounds dead weight of Joe out of the car, helped only by Jessica, one of the identical friends of Claire's, whom Joe somehow managed to hook up with. Unsurprisingly enough, no one else is kind or stupid enough to get involved in this suicidal mission.

But it's all cool with Punk. A last week of a long break ahead of an even longer tour all over the places, the kids have to party it all out, have their fun, because later on there won't be a single second for it. Punk is rather eager to get going already, there are places to be and asses to kick, and a world to take over.

This is why he doesn't really complain and grumble at his friends, he knows that they have to let the steam out so they can focus on hard work afterwards.

Although sometimes he'd rather stay home and watch TV with Cabana.

Instead of sitting at Ace's place, drinking cranberry juice from shot glasses (someone thought it would be a good idea so Punk wouldn't feel left out, while he finds the idea irritatingly ridiculous) and watching the most sugary sweet couple he had ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes upon. The sight of Ace acting like teenage girl makes him slightly sick, although he can't argue that he looks absolutely adorably hilarious. He'd always thought Ace to be rather clumsy when it came to getting girls, he was the complete opposite of _smooth_, but Claire seems to be buying it.

The sight of giggling and blushing Claire makes Punk a little bit _more_ than sick, but it's not because he holds any kinds of grudges against her; sure, he is not going to interact with her more than necessary in foreseeable future, but to be completely honest, he liked her insane part of personality much more. Now she's all giddy and smiley, talking considerably less, listening to Ace's unending rants and lectures about behind-the-ring dynamics, and she actually seems _interested, _despite the fact that Ace is far from the most interesting story-tellers Punk knows.

But love changes people, they say, and Punk has to agree, seeing both of them so completely engaged into conversation and each other and all the things that remain unsaid. _Love, _he sneers, sure, if that's how you call that something that has emerged in mere few days. He always had problems with the very concept of love, ha had never said those overrated words to anyone before, even though everyone he has dated seemed to be eager to hear them from him. There's attraction and respect and if you feel happy being with someone, why ruin everything with a cheap phrase that is being thrown around way too often these days?

_Is that how you define love, Punk,_ he asks himself, _attraction, respect and being happy next to that special person? _Because if it's so, he has to admit to himself that he'd never really loved anyone, because not even one single person could fit all these criteria.

Except Colt, but Punk certainly doesn't want to go into thinking about it now.

He goes back from his pointless musings to observing the beginning of human mating dances, but he has to admit that it is not as amusing as it was just a few moments ago, before he started to think about Colt. Somehow everything always seems less interesting than Colt, and he knows exactly what it means.

He decides that he's seen enough and decides that he might as well head back home, hug Sniffles and eat a bucket of ice cream; that would fit perfectly with his ridiculously sappy mood.

He says his goodbyes to most of the party and when he turns to the host, who, for a change, is not glued to Claire.

"It was nice, Ace, but I've gotta get going," He attempts to hug the man goodbye, but Ace is not having any of it. With strange determination on his face, he takes Punk by elbow and drags him towards the door.

"I'll see you out, Punk," he says loudly for everyone to hear, and adds in whisper, "I need to talk to you."

Punk briefly wonders what Ace means, he thought they had sorted their differences a couple of nights ago, when Ace spent all night expecting a fight with Punk over Claire and was honestly surprised by how easily he let her go. They don't really have anything to talk about, at least, not something that couldn't be discussed in the same room with their mutual friends, who they didn't really have secrets from.

"Where's Colt?" is the first thing Ace asks when they're out of hearing range.

"Home with his army of cats and, I'm assuming, an army of beers too, why? I thought he told you he's not in a going out-kind-of-mood."

"He has, of course," Ace sighs. "He hasn't been in any kind of mood at all, as of late. Care to tell me why?"

There is a certain undertone to Ace's words, as if he would perfectly knew what exactly is wrong with Colt, so Punk replies, irritated:

"You tell me. Since you seem awfully concerned and informed."

"No, Punk, you tell me this: what is going on between you two?"

"Nothing." He replies fast, way too fast to convince Ace _and _himself.

"Cut the crap, Punkers, I know the boy is madly in love with you, and now that you live together and-"

"I'm not gay, Ace, you know that." Punk is sick and tired of having to repeat this statement so often, especially when it isn't exactly true.

Apparently, Ace knows that too.

"Is that what you told Scot last year?"

"Scot as in Cabana?"

"No. Scot as in Raven. I did tell you to cut the crap already, haven't I?" Ace's determination to dig up the truth is admirable, yet annoying nonetheless.

"So you know about Raven. Good on you, Ace. What is it with people dabbing in my personal life lately?"

"Oh come on. It's not _lately_. I'm neither blind nor stupid. Though Colt apparently is, if he's buying all the _I'm not gay_ shit. "

"Well, he was never known to be the smart one, was he?"

"Look, Punk," Ace raises his hands defensively. "All I'm saying that he is really devoted to you."

"Don't use the words you don't understand, Ace."

"He really loves you," Ace adds, very quietly, but Punk hears him.

"Don't use the words _I _don't understand."

With that, he manages to squirm past Ace through the doorway to blissful solitude of the night.

* * *

Colt is, of course, awake when Punk gets home, it's not even all that late, but Punk's attempts to sneak past him to his room are cut off from the very beginning.

"Good you're back, Punkers, I need to talk to you," Colt yells from the living room, completely unaware just in what a bad mood Punk is at the moment.

"Bad timing, Cabana," Punk shouts back, "Talk to you in the morning. Or never. Preferably never."

"I don't think so," Colt suddenly emerges in the doorway, and Punk cures himself for not taking his shoes fast enough.

"What." Punk almost barks, leaning against the wall, hands folded, very pissed off stare aimed ad poor, innocent Colt.

"Wow, who bit you in the ass today?

"Very funny, Colt. Fucking hilarious. Just get on with it."

"I just wanted to ask you if you're coming back here after we're done with touring around, but since someone definitely spilled your Pepsi tonight, you better go and sleep it out."

"That's bullshit, Cabana, and you know it." Punk is more than certain that it is absolutely sure that it is _not _what Colt wanted to talk about."Although you're right. We _do _need to talk.

Colt questioningly raises his eyebrows.

"Look, I know all about your so-called _feelings _towards me," Punk almost spits out the word 'feelings', that's how he hates the very idea of it. "And I'm not pushing you away because I don't like you." He inhales deeply, before continuing, before saying one of the most important things he has ever said to Colt. "Because I really do."

Punk hates to see how Colt's face lights up with happiness and hope because he knows that he will crush this tiny hope he has just given.

"And I think that all the _love_," Punk frowns only thinking about it, "That you've been telling Ace about is absolutely ridiculous."

It's heartbreaking to see how hope is being replaced with pain and sadness.

"I fail to see how my feelings are amusing in any way," Colt says, slowly, forcing each word out of himself, staring right at Punk.

"Okay. It's not ridiculous. It's just totally wrong. I mean, look at yourself. You're a good guy, from a good family, good upbringing, a nice family house with a white fence and, fuck, I don't know, a golden retriever puppies on the lawn,"

"If you say the word _good _once more, I swear, I'll do something bad to you."

"No you won't, and we both know it. See what I'm talking about?" Punk paces around the room nervously, biting his lip. "And then there's me – a complete wreck of a person, with an alcoholic and a junkie in my family, always dirt poor, always messed up… You can't see clearly now, Cabana, but when the excitement over my sweet ass is gone, you'll figure I'm too fucked up for you to handle, and believe me, I'm not worth the bother. I'm not even that good of a lay."

He looks at absolutely confused Colt to make sure the other man is getting his point and sighs in disappointment when he realizes that he doesn't.

"What I'm saying is that you're too good for me. I don't deserve you, Cabana. You'll realize that sooner than later, but it will be too late for _me. _And I really don't feel like going through this shit again because I've been through it far too many times. So be a _good _boy and stay as far from me as you can. "

With that, he turns on his heel and attempts an escape from yet another awkward conversation this night, but Colt doesn't give up as easily as Ace did. The younger man grabs his hand and turns him around.

Punk generally dislikes being touched by other people when he is not the one initiating the contact, but this time it's something entirely different. It's electrifying. It sends shivers down Punk's spine and something resembling butterflies flutter in his stomach.

It must be an entire second that Colt holds Punk's hand in his, an unconscious action, almost instinctive, just to get his attention, but now it somehow gains a deeper meaning behind it. Colt realizes that at the same time as Punk does, and lets go, not pulling away too far, his hand only half an inch away from Punk's, so both men can feel the tension and heat radiating from each other. Colt has no idea what could possibly be so enthralling about a simple touch, but it somehow makes his heartbeat lose its rhythm for that one second.

"Too close?" He asks, very quietly, almost holding his breath.

"Way too close," Punk nods slowly, not lowering his green, slightly hazy and completely unreadable gaze. He doesn't back out an inch, frozen in the same position as Colt has caught him, clearly uncomfortable, but something holds him transfixed.

If there ever was a moment when Punk felt pure sexual tension hanging in the air, this is it. And so much more than that – calling it merely "sexual" would be demeaning. There's that incredible mixture of hesitation, desire, confusion and something that reminds Punk of junior school crushes. His heartbeat doesn't slow down, to the point where he thinks his heart gonna rip its way out of his chest, and he withdraws his hand and steps a few paces away just to be completely safe.

A tiny glimpse of disappointment flashes in Colt's eyes, or at least Punk thinks he sees it in the dim lights flowing through the hallway window from the street.

"I didn't say it's a bad thing," Punk whispers, words are barely audible, but they're there, confusing the hell out of Colt. "Fuck, Colt, I don't know, okay? I don't fucking know."

"I can prove it to you. I can prove that I'm not gonna give up on you."

Punk shakes his head with a sad smile and makes another step closer to his room.

"You don't have to prove me anything, Cabana."

"What do you want, Punk?" Colt whispers back. "Just tell me what you want and where are we going from this point on."

"I want _you,_" Punk closes his eyes for a split second. "But I can't. I'm too fucked up."

"I'm sorry," he says, or wants to say, but his voice gives up when he closes the door to his bedroom form the other side, but he is certain Colt knows it anyway. Because he really, truly _is _sorry.

* * *

Now I agree with you, Guest, Punk really deserves a good smack in the head. But you've gotta understand him, too. After all he's been through, he's going through a hard time now. And he is sorry, so that's gotta count for something :)  
Thank y'all for reading again :)


	7. Overthinking - you're doing it wrong

Okay, I rewrote this like four times, because I went full drama queen about it and had to smoothen it all out. Yet still, I'm updating way more often than I used to. So, who's a good girl? :D

* * *

**Chapter 7: Overthinking – you're doing it wrong**

His breath is still ragged and his heartbeat still out of proper rhythm when he finally makes it to his bed. Being honest was something he has always praised himself for, but look how honesty worked out this time? If there was anything he could've possibly done to mess things up even more, it was to tell Colt what he just did.

But it is truth. Awful, sickening, confusing and very uncomfortable truth.

Somehow Punk thought that sharing it with Colt would make it easier to bear. He is honestly surprised when it doesn't.

He wants him, yes, just like that, plain and simple, and if he was a kind of person to indulge into his desires, this is where it would end. But he isn't like that anymore. And of course, there just has to be something more than that. There has to be the even more uncomfortable and disturbing presence of certain feelings he can't rip out no matter how he hates them. Colt understands it all, of course, he always does, he understands and suffers through and just bears with him, in silence, teeth clenched, good, loyal, fucking _understanding _Colt. Just how much easier would everything be if Colt would be like the rest?

Just like Raven.

Obsessing over things is yet another quality Punk is fully aware of having, and he is _not _particularly proud of it.

Natalie and Claire, and those before and possibly after – it is all so different from what he had with Raven. With him it was all about giving himself, sacrificing and submitting, and when he is with them, it's all taking, and giving back as little as he could afford himself to. He could probably say that his relationships with them lacked the depth he had with Raven, but then again, it is so completely different, it's like comparing apples and oranges.

Either way, it never ends happily.

It all started with an admiration which very fast transformed itself into attraction, which soon became a crush and then the crush became love. That sick, dependent and overly-attached kind of love, where he would bend himself according to what he imagined Raven would want him to be. At first, he would try to capture his attention no matter the means; impress him, shock him, challenge him. Punk wasn't even sure Raven was interested in him, but he just kept trying.

Raven, as it appeared, was very much interested.

It lasted half a year. Half a year of mockery, humiliations, cheating, lying and intense fucking. Half a year of broken illusions and broken hearts, six months of suffering in silence in hopes it will get better. Half a year of fake I-love-yous, covering for some twisted and sick desire and want to mess him up as badly as possible, for no discernible reason.  
It stops being consensual after the first time, when everything is not at all like Punk had imagined or wanted, but it seems to be too late to quit. Raven doesn't let go of what his so easily, and after some time Punk doesn't have it in himself anymore to put an end to this abusive relationship he has gotten himself into.  
It ends, however, just as abruptly and painfully as it proceeded. It ends with Punk being not at all Punk-like, all softness and docility and submission, all homeless kitty-like (Raven's words, not his), Punk on his knees, listening to a rant about how he's not the Punk Raven had once fallen for.

How Punk's passive obedience bordering with complete apathy just doesn't do it for him anymore.

Irony of the situation isn't completely lost on him, but it still weirds him out, even though he should be happy that it ends, he somehow isn't. He got used to be treated like that, and it all shatters into pieces when he says

"I thought you loved me," and Raven just bursts into laughter.

Punk shudders remembering it all. It's sick. He doesn't really want to think about it in a greater detail.

Colt, however…. Punk can imagine that it would be different with Colt. He doesn't know just exactly how different, but despite how much he wants to find out, giving into it again takes too much, too much is at stake, and Punk is not sure he can afford it.

He knows how much Colt wants it, and he can't help but to feel that he owes him that much – for all the time Colt had waited for him, for all the times he has pushed him away, for all the horrible character traits and insults he has suffered through.

Punk lies in bed awake till guilt and desire and memories take the better of him, and when his eyes finally close with sleep and soft darkness swallows him, he has his decision made.

* * *

When Colt knocks on Punk's door it's already well past midday, although they had agreed to get up and go for a run at 9 a.m. precisely. Colt slept in, because he always does, and when no one answers the knock it is clear that Punk is still asleep too.

"Get up." Colt lets himself in, loudly opening the door, and his suspicions aren't completely true, because Punk is wide awake, but still lying in bed, lean body stretched on white sheets, barely covered by a thin blanket, but even upon Colt's intrusion he shows no intentions in getting up.

"I don't want to." Somehow he manages not to sound like a little spoiled kid saying this, but Colt knows he has to treat him exactly as one if he wants to achieve anything at all.

"You have to."

"I beg to differ, Cabana, I don't have to do _shit._" Punk grins, and this is true, because he really doesn't have to get up, he doesn't have any activities scheduled, just an agreement with Colt which he is apparently going to screw up.

"Don't make me make you." Colt threatens jokingly; he has a vague idea of how he would actually carry out his threat, but it's not really worth it. He could perfectly go without a run, if it meant staying home and watching movies, and Punk just might be in the mood for that.

Meanwhile, Punk stretches in the bed, covers sliding off him almost completely as his grin widens.

"Go ahead. Make me."

This somehow sounds so wrong and yet so inviting, that Colt in not entirely sure what to make of it. It seems that Punk is not sure what he meant either.

"I'm going to go all _flying asshole _from this point, if you are not out of bed in ten seconds," He clarifies just to be safe.

"Yeah…" Punk theatrically yawns and stretches even more, "You see, it _would_ be intimidating, if you were… well, intimidating."

There is a certain undertone in his words, barely noticeable, but it certainly _is_ there, Colt knows it, because he was waiting for it for far too long.

"Also, why would you ruin your bed like that? I'm sure you can put it to a much better use," Punk continues, all innocence, but Colt has had just about enough of his bullshit, so he jumps straight down on him, and suddenly there is a mini-wrestling match right there, in Colt's guest bed. With half-naked Punk in it.

"Isn't that a little too close?" Colt asks, breathily, referring to last night's conversation, when they found themselves in some sort of weird-looking lock, more resembling an embrace than a wrestling move, with Punk underneath him, one of his legs wrapped around Colt's waist.

"I did say it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, didn't I?"

"If I wouldn't know better, it would almost seem like you're offering-"

"What if I am?" Punk interrupts, trying to encourage Colt, but mostly encouraging himself. After all, letting Cabana fuck him probably wouldn't be such a bad thing, this was his decision before falling asleep last night, and now he is determined to carry it out. "You do too much thinking, Cabana," he says, mentally frowning at the hypocrisy, because if anyone is overthinking things, it's him.

"Not all of us can just shut their brains down."

"Insults won't get you anywhere. You're in it or not?"

_Fuck it, _Colt decides then, and leans down, planting a tiny, barely-there kiss on Punk's lips.

"Of course," he says pulling away, and his heart skips a beat with joy when he notices a glimpse of disappointment in Punk's eyes at how short the kiss was. His face lights up again when he hears those words, and then he reaches for the back of Colt's neck, pulling him closer, as close as it is humanly possible, closing the gap between them completely. It is a more demanding kiss, almost hungry, Punk's lips attack Colt's with the passion Colt has never expected from his friend and yet longed for years. Colt lets Punk dominate, not wanting to force anything upon him, granting Punk's tongue access instantly when he feels a soft lick on his own lips.

This time the kiss lasts longer past the time they need to catch a breath, but neither of them wants to stop – Colt because he waited so long for this and Punk because he is afraid that his determination will be lost the moment he gets any further away from Colt than he is right now.

First sign of hesitancy is shown when Colt pushes his knee further between Punk's legs. He breaks the kiss, his eyes still closed; he freezes there for a split second, gathering his courage.

"How do you want it?" Colt manages to whisper catching his breath, his voice hoarse with desire.

Punk's eyes shot open, his glace almost saying _I'm not sure I want it at all,_ but the growing boner Colt feels against his thigh says otherwise.

"I'll do whatever you want," Colt promises in the heat of the moment, and he really is ready to do so, whatever Punk would have of him, not just now, but for the eternity to come. But Punk doesn't necessarily have to know that.

"Don't get all sugary sweet on me, Cabana," Punk warns him, still worried about how it all is going to turn out, his gaze nervous, biting his lip ring and that sight drives Colt completely crazy. He leans up, taking off his t-shirt which shortly makes an impressive flight across the room.

Punk's glance follows it till the floor before meeting Colt's stare. He decides to try for something, and with one swift move he turns the situation around, now with Colt underneath him, and Punk straddling his hips. Their clothed erections rub against each other, drawing a loud groan from Colt and a much quieter moan from Punk. He stills himself for a while, waiting for a sign of protest from Colt, waiting to be turned over face down, on his knees and elbows, and told to learn his proper place.

It doesn't happen, and suddenly he is at loss of words, actions, emotions – everything, really.

He is not used to be allowed to do what he wants.

But he'd be damned if it doesn't feel amazing.

He makes a quick work of Colt's pants and his own underwear, slightly amused by blushing and extremely responsive to every touch Colt. Conveniently enough, he knows the lube to be in his backpack lying right next to bed. He reaches out for it, squeezes a generous amount of it in his palm an begins to stroke Colt's length, slicking him up, drawing incredibly heated moans from Colt, and Punk feels that he has never been this turned on in his life. He leans down for another kiss, keeping his eyes open, admiring the look of absolute pleasure on Colt's blushing face, before lifting his hips up and positioning Colt's cock at his entrance.

Colt's hands find their way to Punk's hips, lowering him slowly, and yet he still draws a pained hiss from Punk when his head breaches the ring of muscles.

"Are you ok?" he asks, and Punk's eyes shot open in surprise once again, because no one ever has asked him that before.

"Not. Stopping." He breathes out, lowering himself completely, and stopping only for a second before starting to move.

Colt moves too, he thrusts slightly against him, his one hand on Punk's waist, while the other runs down his chest, making a quick stop at his nipples and then traveling all the way down until his fingers are wrapped around Punk's length, stroking him in unison to their movements.

Punk can't help himself but to gasp at how good, how _amazing _it feels. He's never been very vocal, he has been told to shut up far too often so he has learned to keep his mouth shut no matter how much it hurt.

But now it's different.

He was right – it is different with Colt. Now he can't contain the moans of pleasure that Colt manages to draw out of him with each stroke, with each thrust.

"Wow, Cabana, you're _loud,"_ he actually manages to mock him in between his own moans, because Colt is anything but silent, and Punk is proud and happy to be the reason for it.

They're both not bound to last long, Punk realizes, and Colt flips him over, basically scooping Punk's entire body in his embrace. Their lips reconnect; they cling to each other almost desperately, and Colt, now on top, pulls back completely, re-angling himself and hitting Punk's sweet spot with the next thrust. Hitting hard.

"Ah, _fuck!_" Punk cries out, involuntarily, and immediately stares back at Colt, waiting for his reaction.

"Who's loud now, Punkers?" He flashes a smile, and now every thrust is aimed at Punk's prostate, making him cry out each time, and _fuck it, _he's not even trying to hold it back, because it's Colt, Colt is not going to punish him or forcefully shut him up.

One, second, third deep thrust and Punk's back is arching up, and Colt's grip on his cock tightens very slightly. Punk almost mews, that's how good it feels, and throws his head back on the pillow, his hips shifting erratically as he comes hard, streams of sticky cum covering Colt's hand and his own stomach, his muscles tightening down there around Colt's length, making him groan even louder and cry Punk's name.

For a while the world stands still as Punk feels being filled up with Colt's hot cum, Colt's last hoarse "_Punk!" _hangs in the air, and Punk just lays there and _feels. _

Feels the warmth and the sensation of fullness and a second later – the heat of Colt's embrace, and his breath is still stuck in his throat when Colt rolls off him, holding Punk's hand in his, fingers intertwined.

_If he says that he thanks me, or leaves, or does something else Cabana-ish stupid, I swear, I'll fucking kill him_, thinks Punk, but none of that follows.

He still can't catch his breath, and it worries him. He sits up, lowering his head between the knees, trying to restore normal heartbeat.

Nothing works.

Punk can't pick himself up; how did it all end up being so personal, so close, so intimate? It's not like he has sworn to keep it as simple and unattached as possible. How did he get so _invested? _How could it be so good? He's not used it to be good – to feel this amazing, when no one is trying to humiliate him, where his wishes and pleasure are actually taken into account. When the person who just fucked him doesn't get out right away, leaving him sore and destroyed and alone.

All this is so new and so unusual, all this closeness and warmth, this is just too much for him to bear. The intimacy of the moment they have just shared suffocates him.

_Relax, Punk, _he commands himself,_ it's just Colt. _Same good old Colt, his good friend and loyal sidekick, the one who he laughs things off and plays videogames with.

It's just Colt.

Nothing to worry about.

Breathe in, breathe out. How hard can it be?

But it is. It is surprisingly difficult. He can't help his shaking hands and unstable heartbeat and sweat running down his spine and damned lungs that just wouldn't accept the needed oxygen.

"Punk," Cot reaches for him, a warm hand touches his shoulder, he sits up in bed too and hugs him from behind, so close, so warm, so _safe_. "Punk. I've got you." He whispers in his ear, and _of course _he does, of course Colt's got him, he always does, because that's Colt for you.

Punk can't come to terms with what just happened and what it means, and how Colt's caress is the only thing that calms him down.

It's just too much to handle.

"I've gotta go," Punk says suddenly, actually getting up and picking some clothes from the mess in the room. "You might be all relaxed and lazy, but I'm gonna go for that run you seem to be screwing me over."

"_You've gotta go?_ Seriously, Punk? You're gonna try and pull the sudden _I've gotta go_ on me?" Colt sits up in bed and raises his eyebrows in disbelief and mild annoyance. "Quit being an idiot and get back here."

Punk just raises his hands – defensively, apologetically.

"Hey, I have some serious shit to come to terms with," he gives out a smile, but it somehow feels fake. "And by that I don't only mean the fact that you just fucked me."

"Please don't call it like that," Colt's frown deepens. He certainly doesn't like where this is going; first Punk freaks out, and now he just runs away…

"How would you call it then?" Now it's Punk's turn to quirk an eyebrow. He has a vague suspicion about what's about to be said, and he starts regretting the question that slipped out of his mouth, because he knows that these will be the words he despises and hates the most.

When they are finally said, he doesn't reply, because he doesn't know how to, and the very best option now is, in fact, to run it all out, to burn the adrenaline and run the memories out of his mind. Each and every step is meant to distance himself from the lie which Colt just said.

But somehow it echoes in his head with every step.

"I love you."

* * *

I really hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. I somehow got myself very much involved in writing this story. Your opinions mean a lot to me, so THANK YOU for dropping by :)


	8. Winners and losers

I've completely messed up the chronology of the actual events here for my convenience. I am sorry for that.  
There is a huge AN in the end of this, but for now – onwards, my dear readers!

* * *

**Chapter 8: Winners and losers **

Somehow Colt is not even a bit surprised when Punk doesn't return. He has no idea where Punk went, but he understands his need to put some distance and time between them. So he goes about his daily routine as usual, makes an arrangement with the neighbor that she would take care of his cats as usual, packs his stuff for tomorrow, because they are finally going back to Philly, finally starting the work he had already begun to miss.

He still doesn't believe to be screwed over when Punk is still not home when he goes to bed. Pure happiness overshadows almost every other emotion that dares to peek in, and Colt can't stop thinking about what happened in the morning.

A dream came true.

Sometimes he just stops in the middle of whatever he is doing, because Punk's face flashes up in his memories, and his memories helpfully remind him of the feeling of Punk's lips on his, of the taste of Punk's mouth and the weight of Punk's body on top of his own, and how perfectly he fits in his embrace. Every single moment of their love is burned in Colt's memory forever, but sometimes he still can't believe that it wasn't just another of his many dreams.

Love.

Colt is surprised by how easily these words come, how natural it seems to tell them to Punk. He freaked him out completely, but it's something Colt is sure he can deal with. Even if it takes his whole life, he is determined to prove just how honest these words are.

Because he does. He really loves him.

He starts to suspect that something is amiss only the next day, when all Punk's stuff is gone from the apartment and Colt already has to head down for the tour bus waiting for him. Punk must've sneaked in at night, taken his bags and left again while Colt was sleeping peacefully, for the first time in weeks. Colt can't really wrap his head around Punk's behavior and reasoning, but when he sees him curled in the back seat of the buss, all his look screaming _leave me alone, _he decides that he doesn't really want to push it. He believes they are finally on the right track, and since they are, he has nowhere to rush. If Punk wants to take it slow, he is more than up to it.

However, when after first week of never ending performing and traveling from one side of the country to another Punk still hasn't spoken a word to him unless he was spoken to, Colt starts to worry. Punk barley talks to anyone at all, he seems even more shut off from the world than usual, and the other guys seem to start noticing it as well.

Somewhere between Buffalo and Morristown they stop for a dinner and Homicide steals a moment when Punk is off to the bathroom.

"What have you done to your boyfriend, Cabana? He seems to be even grumpier than usual."

"That's hardly possible," argues Joe.

"He's not my boyfriend," Colt denies and hell, blushes like a maiden."We're heterosexual life partners, that's all."

"Heterosexual my ass," shoots Chris and bursts into laughter over his own lame pun.

"Ha-fucking-ha, Hero. You're hilarious, you know that?"

"Well, we all know that _your _ass is not heterosexual at all," it is Punk himself, he emerges out of nowhere right behind Chris's and Colt's backs. "Yet I'd like you to refrain from such judgments about mine."

"Wow, if it isn't our number one contender for the ROH championship," states Chris. "We were just wondering who bit your ass right before your title shot."

"You use the word _ass _so often these days, Hero, that I have a feeling that you haven't gotten any in a _long _time," Punk retorts, expressionless, and here it is, everything seemingly back to normal, Punk being his usual deadpan snarker, distant, cynical, arrogant. Not the Punk Colt remembers from the last night in Chicago.

But that Punk seems to be long gone.

* * *

The bus stops in the middle of nowhere, it's around 3 a.m. and the driver needs a bit of sleep before continuing. The majority of guys are asleep and snoring, all except for Punk. He can't ever fucking sleep, so he just listens to Lars's raspy voice till the battery on his old, beaten up ipod dies out completely with the words

_"…Sometimes I roam far from my home, so far, I got no place to go back to…"_

Punk just sighs at how true these words are. Few months and he will be leaving everything he has grown accustomed to. Few months and there won't be any more all night trips in a tiny bus stacked with drunk and sleepy idiots he loves so much. Few months and he will be saying goodbye to Homicide at the airport, right after dropping a very drunk Joe at his girlfriend's place. He can imagine it to the tiniest detail, and it both warms and terrifies him that he knows his friends so well.

No more Raven's disgusting glares at him, no more Hero's dirty stupid jokes… No more Cabana.

He briefly wonders whether Colt is ever going to forgive him. Forgive him for so much – the most unfair way he has treated him, the complete ignore-mode he has put him into, and that last thing he has held up from him. Saving the worst for last, apparently.

All he has left to do is to win that championship and last until the end of their tour back in Chicago. And in June… In June he will be history.

It gets way too hot in the bus, and Punk quietly sneaks past the guys outside. They are parked next to a 24/7 coffee shop and after a while of walking and jumping around the bus in cold annoying drizzle he heads inside. _Funny, _he thinks, _it's such a burning hell in the bus and outside is a fucking ice age,_ but his musings about the weather dissolve immediately the moment he sees Colt slouched on one of the tables. His upper body lying on the table, head resting in interlocked fingers, he seems to be watching whatever is going on TV, oblivious to what is happening around him. There is no one else in the coffee shop except for a waitress who quietly sleeps in the corner behind the bar.

Punk pulls a chair from the other table and sits next to Colt. He has no idea why he still does that, given the fact that all these days he was avoiding Colt by all means possible, and here, in this empty café, he can distance himself all he wants. But he still sits next to him.

Colt says nothing. He doesn't even as much as looks at him, and Punk somehow finds that particularly annoying.

So he says nothing too.

For endless minutes they both just aimlessly stare into the space in front of them, sometimes throwing a lazy glance at the screen.

They say nothing.

Punk untangles his earphones and pretends to be listening to music, half-closes his eyes and watches Colt.

Colt is seemingly dozing out, his eyelashes making it seem like his eyes are closed, but Punk knows he's watching him too. He can feel Colt's stare with his very skin. They remain silent for what seems like another eternity, and Punk almost believes that Colt finally fell asleep, and starts nodding off too, when Colt's voice makes him open his eyes.

"You can't avoid me forever, Punker."

_I can and I will, _Punk wants to reply, but the sadness and softness in Colt's tone make his rude response stuck in his throat.

So he remains silent again.

"You know what? Fuck it. To hell with your bullshit, Punk." Colt gets up and pulls the chair back.

"I wouldn't go back there if I there you. I don't think Joe has stopped farting ever since that last diner we stopped in."

Colt sighs and sits back down.

"So tell me, Punk. Since you apparently talk to me again. How's the _coming to terms_ going for you so far?"

Now it's Punk's time to sigh heavily. He has been thinking about their… affair for much longer time than he would like to admit, replaying it over and over in his head, trying to figure out how he feels about it and where he should move from there on. Without a doubt, it was a greatest lay he has gotten in ages, and so much more than that. Too much. He can't wrap his head around Colt's last phrase, he wants nothing more than to believe it, but his bitter experience has taught him better, it taught him that not everyone who sticks a dick in his ass and in the heat of moment claims to love him actually means it. In fact, _no one _ever means it.

But it's Colt. Colt can actually be crazy enough to imagine that he loves Punk.

If it is so, Punk would do himself and Colt a favor by putting as much distance between them as it is possible. But he can't. He wants to believe to be loved so much, that all he can answer to Colt's question is truth.

"I'm trying," he says, "And that's the most accurate truth I can tell you."

With that he returns to the bus against his own advance, but Joe's farts and the insane heat are nothing compared to how shitty it feels to be next to Colt now.

* * *

Punk wakes up after almost two hours of precious sleep from the sudden movement; the driver got up and the journey continues. The guys are still asleep, snoring like an army of bears, and Punk frowns ant that; there is still not a single gasp of fresh air in the bus, and if his mood wasn't bad enough it just adds onto it.

Colt sees it all, he can read Punk's face like an open book. He thinks Punk should be excited about his upcoming match, but he realizes that something is eating his friend and it's not only their apparently complicated relationship. He is used to Punk's bad days, god knows he has seen plenty of them, and if those days used to scare him before, now he knows how to handle them.

_Kill 'em with kindness, _he thinks, throwing a blanket over Punk's lap and handing him a mug.

"I don't want coffee," Punk grumbles with an expression of deep disgust on his face. "Why do you always just _assume _stuff and make decisions for me?"

Colt rolls his eyes.

"That's why you like me," he flashes a smile at Punk, who is still staring at his coffee with discontent and confusion.

"Who says I like you?" he shoots back, somewhat half-heartedly, and that's when Colt decides he just had enough of Punk's daily grump. He takes the mug away from him and places it on the table, at the same time pulling Punk closer and placing a kiss on his closed lips. Colt gently nips at his lip ring, asking for entrance, and after a heartbeat of hesitation Punk grants it. For a while he kisses back quite reluctantly, but Colt is not pulling back and at some point Punk somehow just melts into kiss and lets himself enjoy the sensation.

That doesn't mean he would admit it to Colt or even to himself.

"I think you just did," Colt answers Punk's question when they break the kiss for a gasp of air. Punk frowns again and turns his head away.

"_You _kissed _me_," he points out.

"_You _blushed."

"Don't be an idiot, Cabana, I don't blush."

"Sure you don't, kid. Sure you don't." Colt smiles, and they both catch a questioning glance from half-awake Ace. Punk grimaces at him and distances himself from Colt taking a sip of coffee and sighing in content, while Colt throws Ace a sweet smile. Steel just shakes his head and pulls a blanket over his head.

Punk aims his stare at the window and it seems that the conversation or, really, any interaction from his side is over, because he remains completely shut off from the rest of them through all the journey and until his match.

Colt can't help but to feel that it's the silence before the storm.

* * *

Punk's win against Austin Aries will definitely make it into the history of wrestling, Colt is certain of that. His heart flutters with joy and pride when Punk stands on a turnbuckle, holding his title in the air, his head raised and smile lighting up his face. Colt always saw this greatness in him, he always known Punk will make it to the top and he is certain that this is not the final achievement of his, that he will go places.

He has no idea how true his thoughts are until seconds after the victory Punk makes an announcement no one expected. He does it with such arrogance and mockery in his voice, that despite knowing that it's only part of Punk's on-stage persona, Colt can't help but feel hurt.

The words _WWE, contact _and_ leaving _echo in his head long after the show is over. Now it is absolutely clear what was worrying Punk all this time, why he wouldn't talk to him, why he was so distant.

Now Colt knows why Punk let Colt fuck him.

It was a pity fuck before leaving him and ROH and Chicago forever. Of course it was. How could Colt ever imagine Punk actually felt something towards him? After all, he is the champion, the best there was or will be, the future WWE superstar, the great CM Punk, and Colt… Colt will never be up to his level. He will always be the stupid, awkward, good-for-nothing tag team partner in the shadow of Punk's greatness, an inferior friend who had a ridiculous crush on him for all those years.

But the fact that he was merely a pity fuck is not what upsets Colt the most.

It's the goodbye that follows.

* * *

I'd like to address a few things in this AN.  
First off, those of you who worried that the last chapter was the end of it were just proven wrong :) The story is not finished and I'm not letting it go so easily. I have at least 2 more chapters planned.  
Now for the reviews. You guys have no idea how happy you make me! I am so glad and proud of myself that you find the guys written in-character. Especially Punk. This must be one of the greatest compliments I could possibly get. THANK YOU!  
The **anon-who-loves-Ace-Steel**. Can I ever express adequately just how good your reviews make me feel? You have to be the queen of amazing feedbacks. You make my day each time.  
**MiniBatman**. I am glad you're enjoying this. Your emotional reviews make me smile and know I'm on the right track.  
**showstopper87**. You know you're awesome. As a reviewer and a writer, both.  
**Unnamed guests**. Thank you all for dropping by :)  
And probably the one who made me think the most - **Athena MacG**. I am extremely proud of myself after reading your review. I'm glad you find the characterization spot-on. Now, as for your critique. I am so damn sorry! Typos are my curse, even though I proof read it, they still seem to sneak in. I honestly thought I managed to avoid them at least in the last chapter… Sorry for spoiling your reading pleasure. I'll try to get better.

For those wondering, the song quoted is "My life to live" by Lars Frederiksen, whom Punk is a fan and a friend of.


	9. Unburdened

This is gonna be longer than I wanted, but that's your treat for being so awesome. See AN in the end.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Unburdened **

_You stupid old man. I am a snake._

It echoes in Colt's head for hours.

Honestly, Colt can perfectly relate to the poor old man from Punk's tale. You love them, you nurse them, you give them everything you have and then they turn to bite you. Bite so hard, with so much poison, that all you can do is to lie in the corner, helpless, devastated and dying.

And this is exactly what Colt is doing for the last three or so hours.

He knows that the guys went to celebrate Punk's win and contract, but to say that he doesn't feel like partying would be an understatement. He doesn't see a reason for celebration; he knows that it's as selfish as it gets, that he should be proud and happy for Punk, but he just can't get himself together.

Especially knowing that Punk doesn't even want him to celebrate with him. Or he just doesn't care.

No, nothing in Colt's mind calls for a celebration. If anything, the situation calls for mourning.

And it is exactly what he intends to do. He slowly drowns himself in self-pity, grief and beer, regretting that he can't be home at this moment, where he could feel completely safe. On a second thought, though, Punk would be home too.

Colt winces at the thought of Punk in his apartment, Punk in his guest bed, Punk under him with his legs wrapped around Colt's waist; Punk screaming his name. It all has a different meaning now, how easily Punk has given into sleeping with Colt despite his own words the night before.

_…and all of you stupid, mindless people fell for it!_

What an idiot he has been, thinking that Punk could actually as much as _like _him, that he could see through all his imperfections, his not-so-pretty build, his awkwardness and goofiness. How could be so arrogant to assume that Punk, the beautiful, smart, interesting, unusual CM Punk could actually fall for _him_? They were friends all right; Punk has accepted his ridiculous (Punk's own words!) crush and even pitied him enough for that to actually have sex with him. But, apparently, not enough to tell that he is leaving the company, leaving them all. Leaving Colt.

A pity fuck goodbye. It was all there was.

With that Colt downs another bottle of beer and hears the door to Punk's room smash and voices echo in the hallway.

Great. The party is here.

* * *

It is like it always had been: Joe and Hero and Homicide, Ace and Punk, in a diner after the show, discussing their matches and moves and the crowd's reactions. The only one missing is Colt, but he had excused himself, as he usually did lately, and Ace and Joe have given up convincing him.

Punk could not be bothered about that even in the slightest.

Pizza, beer and Pepsi, two in the morning and still no one is getting ready to go back to the hotel. Punk's announcement and the speech he has delivered were quite impressive even for the guys who had heard Punk's promos before. They seem to be genuinely surprised by the fact that Punk is leaving ROH; they all have known that he would be going further than that, but it all seems to be so sudden and unexpected.

And of course, there is Punk's championship to celebrate.

When the waitress comes by to collect their plates and glasses, Joe notices the championship belt lying on the table next to Punk.

"Do you really have to bring it everywhere?"

Punk follows Joe's stare and smiles – not at Joe, but at the belt.

"I didn't really have an opportunity to drop it by somewhere," he says.

"The hell you didn't," Homicide interferes, "You're just too fucking giddy about it to put the damned thing away even for a second."

"Aww, is that jealousy I hear?" Punk taunts, smiling wickedly, and pats his prized possession.

Through the alcoholically-induced haze Joe looks at ridiculously content Punk and frowns.

"You're not rubbing it in our faces, are you?" he voices his suspicion, narrowing his eyes.

"No no no no no…." Punk argues, but after realizing that it doesn't t sound convincing at all, he just snorts and flashes a huge grin at his friend. "Pff… fuck yeah. Totally."

"Asshole." Joe, Cide and Hero say simultaneously, and the company bursts into laughter.

"Nice place as it is," Homicide speaks up, "I believe we should move our party from here and crash Punk's hotel room."

Everyone roars in agreement except for Punk.

"Yeah, so I'll have to babysit you drunks again and clean up the shit after you?"

"My point exactly. So you wouldn't be so god damn giddy all the fucking time. Jeez, I can't look at that grinning face of yours anymore without wanting to vomit."

"I knew it, Cide, you _are _jealous!"

"Calm down, ladies and germs, we're heading for Punk's and it's final." Joe voices the decision.

"There are no ladies here, you fuckhead," Cide notes.

"_This!_ This is why I love you, man. Because you're always thinking!" Joe throws his arm around his shoulders and pulls the man closer, planting a loud wet kiss on his cheek as they make their way to the door. "We should get ladies! And gentlemen for our pal Hero here!"

"And more beer!" Homicide supplies with an equal excitement.

"Isn't this man an absolute perfection?! Tell me, guys, right in my face, that my buddy Cide isn't damn perfect!"

Punk just rolls his eyes and catches a similar expression on Ace's face. It seems to be a very long night ahead of them.

The idea of getting ladies is, thankfully, forgotten as they make it to Punk's hotel room and settle there on the floor, with beers and more food, with TV playing in the background. Joe and Cide are already in their overly-lovely-to-each-other stage and Hero slowly getting there too, while Punk and Ace are having a more serious conversation. It irritates Pun how soon their conversation turns to Colt. He is completely aware of his own dickish behavior towards one of his best friends, he is too conflicted to talk to anyone about it, but Ace is not having any of it.

"You slept with him, didn't you?" He asks, narrowing his eyes at Punk.

"I honestly thought that since you finally have a personal life of your own, you would stop into dabbing into mine."

Ace just snorts at that.

"Seriously, just how the fuck you always know everything?"

"Oh come on, Punker," Punk scowls at the nickname, because Colt is the only one he actually allows to call him like that…. And now this little word has a completely different meaning when associated with Colt.

"I've known you kids for years. I've known that Cabana is insanely in love with you for pretty much all those years – and he didn't have to tell me a thing. And I certainly have seen plenty of people who just had sex with each other and now regret it."

"I don't regret it," words leave Punk's mouth sooner than he has a chance to think about it, but it's true. And he has no intentions in holding the truth back; at least not from Ace.

"So why are you acting like a complete asshole?" _It is a very good question, _Punk thinks. And again he decides that honesty is the best policy. Who knows, maybe Ace is actually capable of helping him to sort all this mess up.

"Because he said that he loves me. And because I'm leaving anyway."

"You, Punk, are a fucking idiot." Chris voices from his corner, apparently, not so involved in the conversation with Joe and Homicide, but he throws this at Punk and goes back to discussing something with them.

"He's right," Ace points out. "You really are. Of course he loves you."

"No he doesn't."

"The fact that you are incapable of loving anyone doesn't mean that he is like that too."

This makes Punk much more furious than it should, and he blurts out without thinking:

"I am very much capable of loving Colt!" This also comes out a bit too loud to his liking, because everyone in the room goes completely silent.

"Then get the fuck out of here and talk to him. I'm sure he's being all miserable and drunk in his room," says Hero after a second of silence.

"He's right, Punker. Go before he has done something stupid." It's Ace, gently pushing on his shoulder.

"I fucking hate you all."

* * *

The knock wakes Colt up from his drunken slumber, and when he opens his eyes, there is no sign of any effects of alcohol anymore, and this is unfortunate, because of all people the person he doesn't want to see the most is standing in his doorway.

"What do you want?" It is Colt's time to ask now. He is too damn tired from all this bullshit, his head still pounding from the alcohol he had consumed, ant the last thing he wants now is to deal with Punk's uncertainties and bullshits, because he can't even deal with his own.

"Nothing, really," Punk shrugs, "Ace told me to go after you. Apparently you seem like you're about to do something stupid. You always do, I told him, but he insisted."

"How very sweet of you. Considering that you didn't seem to be bothered about my well-being ever before."

"That is hurtful and untrue," Punk points out, closing the door and settling himself on Colt's bed.

Silence hangs between them, so full of unspoken words that Colt decides to break it.

"Congratulations on your win, champ. And your contact."

"It's no big deal, really," Punk shrugs again. "I'm going to the developmental, and then we'll see how things go from there."

"It's such not a big deal that you decided it wasn't worth telling me?"

"Look, I'm sorry, ok? I was going to tell you." _Eventually._

"When you would sneak in to pick up the rest of your stuff while I'm sleeping?"

_Pretty much._

"I'm sorry about that too."

"What else are you sorry about?" Colt asks, completely aware that he is playing with fire now, and thinking that he probably doesn't really want to know the answer to that. Punk seems to be at loss of words, to his surprise, he just stares at Colt with his impossible green eyes for what seems to be an eternity.

"Nothing."

Colt has absolutely no idea how to respond to that, because that is the answer he expected the least. After a while of consideration he decides to be as straightforward as he can, since Punk seems to be in a mood to answer his questions.

"Why did you do it?

"Because you wanted to." The answer follows immediately.

"And you?"

"…Because I wanted it, too." Now there is a heartbeat of hesitation, but only that; Punk still responds, fast and without putting too much thought behind it.

"Okay, you get an A for those. Let's try more difficult ones. What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing whatsoever."

"Why did you leave then?"

Punk turns his face away from Colt and aims his stare at the window.

"Because you said you loved me." His whisper is barely audible.

"Which makes what kind of sense exactly?"

Punk gives him a puzzled look. It's not a simple question anymore, and explaining it all would take too much time that Colt probably wouldn't give him, so he goes for the simplest answer:

"Because you didn't mean it. Because no one means it."

"Well, fuck you too Punk. You don't have a _clue_ what I feel and think, because you're not in my fucking head! Of course I meant it! For god's sake, I loved you for Of course I meant it! For god's sake, I loved you for _years. _Years, Punk!"

"Haven't we been through this already, Cabana?!" Punk breaks into screaming as well. "You just think that you love me, because no one, _no one _could as much as like me longer than it takes to fuck me!"

"And what if I told you that I need you for much, much longer, Punk? What if I said that I need you for my whole life?"

"Then I'd say you're lying. And I've never figured you for a liar. Because nothing," his eyes glisten in the dark, "_Nothing _lasts forever. Even you."

Colt just sighs. This conversation is entirely pointless; nothing is going to convince Punk that he does, in fact, love him, because Punk continues his rant:

"I have absolutely no qualities to be loved for. I'm a horrible person. I hate almost everything. I'm messed up and cynical, and I've been a jerk to most people I know. And you the most." Something slightly changes in Punk's voice; now it doesn't sound like an angry stubborn rant. There is so much pain and desperation in his voice, that all the anger just melts away from Colt.

"But this is what makes you _you. _This is why I love you."

"Please don't say it again," Punk whispers now.

"You may not like it, but you better fucking believe it."

There is a second of silence, and then:

"I'm trying. It's just not working."

"Just let me try and prove it," Colt whispers too, and when Punk turns his puzzled gaze at him, he closes the remaining gap between them, pulling Punk down into a kiss. He catches Punk off-guard and he almost loses his balance, but manages to wrap his hands around Colt's waist and now there is no other option than to give in; he kisses Colt back, more passionately and aggressively, lightly biting on his lower lip to make the entrance faster, and Colt gladly obliges. Punk dominates the kiss for a while, exploring Colt's warm mouth with his tongue, but Colt flips him over and pulls out from the kiss, sliding down the bed. While doing so, he feels Punk growing hard and smiles at how responsive he is, peeling down Punk's jeans and underwear and throwing them on the floor. Punk gasps at the sudden cold air on his skin, but Colt makes a quick work of compensating it by placing his mouth on him. Punk gasps again and bucks up, fast and hard, he knew what was coming but it still shocks him.

"Calm down, Punker," Colt laughs softly, looking up into Punk's eyes, now slightly hazy with arousal. With that he pulls Punk's hips back down and licking the pre-cum already forming up at the head of Punk's cock.

Punk groans loudly and fists the sheets; he hasn't been at the receiving point of a blowjob from another guy for ages, and he'd almost forgotten how that feels. He places his hand over his mouth immediately, however, earning another stop of action from Colt.

"You don't need to hold yourself back. I want to hear it all."

At that, Punk manages to giggle.

"It's just I'm fairly certain that the guys are holding their breath and listening to whatever we might come up with."

"Sick bastards," Colt murmurs, leaning back and taking Punk whole, drawing a muffled moan from Punk, so silent, that it resembles a mewl. He bites his lips, hard, and his nails dig into his palms to keep himself from screaming as Colt is bobbing his head up and down, his tongue tracing the underside of Punk's cock. Just a few minutes of such treatment and Punk's hips are arching up, he tries to push Colt away, but the younger man isn't having any of it. He sucks on the tip, making Punk shudder and squirm, and shout wordlessly as he releases into Colt's eager mouth.

"Fuck, Colt," He breathes out after a second, still panting. "You're amazing."

"Are you starting to believe now?" Colt smirks at him, before leaning in for a small kiss.

"Still trying," Punk responds, all seriousness, and spreads his legs wider. "Why don't you prove a bit more?"

Colt is happy to oblige. Slowly and teasingly he slicks his fingers with lube and one by one, he prepares Punk's entrance, his movements so agonizingly slow, yet precise that after the second finger Punk feels himself fully hard again. He can't hold the scream when Colt finally enters him and he cries his name when he hits his sweet spot, and proceeds to do so after Colt makes a perfect aim he thrusts, each time deeper and harder. Punk wraps his legs around Colt's waist, pulling him closer and squeezing his inner muscles, which makes him not alone in his screaming anymore.

"Do that again," Colt asks hoarsely, building up a steady rhythm, and Punk does just so. It doesn't take too much for Colt to send him over the edge for the second time this night, a thing he barely thought was possible, and it takes Colt only a look at Punk's face when he comes to reach the orgasm too, with Punk's name on his lips.

"I love you, Phil," Colt says when they catch a breath, their bodies still entangled, but none of them could be bothered to move. "Do you believe me now?"

Punk sighs deeply.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Nope."

* * *

Can you feel it? Can you feel that the closure is near? Just don't forget that Punk is still leaving. Ha! Don't be too happy just yet.

Also. Guys, you are completely amazing. I can't even start describing how grateful I am for all of your reviews and support. Today's special thanks go to:

**showstopper87.** Thank you for the awesome story you're writing and the shoutout you've given me there!

**Amy!** I know you're reading this, too. Huge thanks for your support and inspirational fic collection you've shared. I so hope you'll start write stories of your own. I'm gonna be your biggest fan.

And my **favorite Anon!** That review just topped all the previous. It made me smile like an idiot for an entire day and the day after.

THANK YOU!


	10. No gimmicks needed

With mixed feelings I present the final chapter of this painful long emotional rollercoaster. I messed up the chronology of events yet _again_ despite the fact that I just re-watched The Sumer of Punk. Sorry. I hope you will enjoy, and make sure to see the AN in the end.

* * *

**Chapter 10: No gimmicks needed**

Punk wakes up from the unusual heat. It takes him a while to calm down from the initial shock of the situation, he is not used to waking up with someone in his bed, especially waking up wrapped so tightly in someone's embrace that he can barely breathe. He realizes it's because he is sharing the same air with Colt.

Colt, who loves him.

Punk whispers that very silently, not to wake him up, just so test how it sounds.

_Colt loves him._

It is hard to believe it, but he is willing to get used to the way it sounds and feels. He is willing to learn to tell that to Colt, too. Eventually.

All his insecurities about this particular set of words rise again, all the memories of them being said before make their presence known with the images of Raven laughing in his face, but Punk shakes them off. He is not going to let this ruin what he has now, neither he is going to bother Colt with them. Maybe one day he will share that unfortunate period of his life with him, but not now; both of them are way too fragile at the moment. He owes Colt at least that much after all he has put him through.

It all is gone now, it's all in the past and he should not let it ruin his future. Because he is certain there is one with Colt.

His anchor, his support, his best friend.

His Colt. The one he loves.

He breathes out the last thought of Raven and unconsciously tightens his grip on Colt's hand, waking him up.

"What's the time?" he mutters sleepily, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"Something something p.m.," Punk responds. "We slept in as hell."

"Mmm," Colt responds meaningfully, still not opening his eyes, let alone moving from his current position.

"C'mon, Cabana, let's go and face our judgment. Because there's gonna be one, trust me."

They dress up and make their way downstairs, and only then Colt realizes what Punk just said.

"What judgment-"

But he is immediately cut off by the sight of four wide grins lined up in front of them on one side of the breakfast table. Homicide, Hero, Joe and Ace are all squeezed up on one bench, leaving the one on the other side for Punk and Colt. It is very unusual, most of the times they fight for place, no one willing to have his ass squished by Joe and Cide, but now they all somehow managed to get to some sort of an agreement.

They say nothing, just grin like fucking Cheshire cats, and when Punk and Colt take their places in front of them, Chris whistles, loudly and obnoxiously.

"Philly and Scotty, sitting in the tree-"

"Of all possible insults, you pick this one? Jesus, Hero, it's not like we _rehearsed _or something," D interrupts, greatly annoyed.

"I object, what we heard last night was certainly _not _kissing," Joe argues in.

"Oh, definitely. I haven't heard Punk being so vocal ever since that time he-"

"I think Cabana was louder. Look, he blushes! Guys, look at Cabana blushing!"

"Yeah, haven't seen that that before." Ace chimes in the conversation too, his smile not as mischievous as the others.

"Now let's hear all the nasty details!" Enthusiasm in Hero's voice is quite frightening, and thankfully, Joe thinks so too.

"WHAT! Wasn't all we heard just about enough to spoil my appetite for, like, two days?"

Punk rolls his eyes.

"You too, Brutus?" He sighs heavily, bushing too, to his discontent, and adds, despite his determination to remain stoically silent, "You jerks could've at least gotten us breakfast."

"More like lunch."

"What, too exhausted to get some yourself? Or does your _ass-_"

"Okay, that's enough, kids. Punk has an important evening ahead. Let him eat in silence."

Punk and Colt both send Ace glances filled with gratitude.

"Speaking of which," Colt speaks for the first time in the morning, "I have a fucking hilarious idea about it."

* * *

Colt makes a step back and admires his handiwork from afar, a content grin flashing on his face, he barely holds back the laughter while Punk scowls at the mirror, turning from side to side to get a full view of himself.

"I look like an idiot," he proclaims after a long consideration. He doesn't seem content with the result even in the slightest, he never was particularly good at making fun of himself despite the fact that he willingly agreed to do so this time.

"You sure do," Colt agrees and finally bursts into laughter."Just wait till Cide sees it." He manages to hiss out in between incontrollable giggling and wiping the laugher tears from his face. He can't recall when he'd ever seen Punk – or anyone, really – look so completely awfully hideous, and that said taken into consideration his own red and black polka dot attire he used to wear.

"Seriously, Cabana, this is fucking ridiculous," Punk's frown goes deeper and deeper after seeing Colt catching breath from now soundless laughter.

"That's the point, Punk, besides, it goes just fucking perfectly with your purple hair."

"What is wrong with my hair?" Punk is not amused.

"Oh, nothing," Homicide enters the locker room and chimes in the conversation, "Except that it looks fucking stupid. It's like- AAAH MY EYES! Jesus, Punk, I swear, the moment I thought you can't possibly look more retarded!"

"Leave it, Cide, he's supposed to look like stuck-up, sold-out kid who is signing his first big contract. Which he is."

"But that tie! Have you _seen _that tie?! We can't let him go out there like this!" Cide exclaims, but upon seeing that Punk is not going to change, he just sighs and mutters something along the lines of _you white kids and your jokes._

Punk just stands there, expressionless, arms folded on his chest as much as this goddamned uncomfortable suit allows him, and looks at his closest friends who are supposed to support and encourage him.

"You know, Cide, you're not exactly the shining example of impeccable style," he notes nonchalantly. "So shut the fuck up and get Shane for me. No fucking way those two spineless idiots gonna _disrespect _their precious belt like that. Better be ready."

He fishes out the WWE contract from his backpack and carefully puts it in his inner pocket. Punk passes Colt on his way out, his hand lightly brushing Colt's and throws his title belt on his shoulder, ready to give those people the show they crave for.

And he gives one damn good show, for the weeks to come, they call it the summer of Punk now, his matches are the place to be, but no matter how proud he is, he knows that it's not the very top of his career. Greater things are about to happen, he can feel it, and even if it will hurt to leave ROH which has become his home now, he knows he has to.

After every summer there is an autumn, and for Punk, it's time of new beginnings.

* * *

Punk can't hold back the tears, but he doesn't even want to, there is nothing to hide here. It was his last match, his last appearance on ROH stage, his friends, his _family_, his fans and the people he holds most dear around him, saying their last goodbyes to him, paying their respect, and Punk's heart is filled with pride and gratitude.

As they leave the arena, he takes a longer while to give high fives and shake hands than usual.

"What does CM stand for?" Someone asks from the crowd, and Punk freezes for a split second; he'd never really considered the fact that he actually is no Chick Magnet now, not after all the things he'd said and done and went through with Colt. The Colt who loves him.

"Chicago Made," He responds after a little while of hesitation, Colt grins widely, _nice save_, he whispers, and the home town crowd cheers louder than ever.

_Of course_ he cries, end even when Cide calls him a soft-hearted pussy, he doesn't regret it a bit.

He knows he will cry more than it will come to the last, the most important and painful goodbye he ever had to say.

When after all the celebrations he and Colt finally return home and Sniffles is the first one to meet them, he can't help but to feel his heart clenching again.

"I'm taking the cat with me," he states as matter-of-factly as he can. "I've grown to like her and I think she doesn't hate me either."

Colt doesn't respond, because they are already in his bedroom, and he wraps his hands around Punk, and smiles sadly, placing the softest and the most loving kiss on Punk's forehead he is capable of.

"What is it, Cabana?" Punk stops and stares at Colt with a light frown. "Getting all sugary again? I mean, kissing people's foreheads and all. That's too sweet even for you."

"About what you said earlier, in the ring. You said you loved me."

"Of course I love you. I love all of you guys; you're my support, my family-"Punk explains, but is immediately cut off.

"That's not what I meant." Colt whispers with a tiny hint of sadness in his voice, which makes Punk's frown go deeper.

"I know." He replies after a second of silence. "I know what you meant. And I mean it too."

"Is that some sort of a veiled way of saying that you love me too?"

"…Yes." Colt has no idea how much it takes for Punk to say it, because he doesn't give up that easily.

"You could just say it in plain text, you know. _I love you._ How hard is it, if you mean it?"

Punk sighs again, gathering all his courage and breathes out:

"I love you, Cabana. And I'm not gonna say it again until something changes about it."

"The hell you won't," Colt grins somewhat devilishly and Punk mentally scorns at himself for being a really, really bad influence on him lately. Whatever happened to shy, insecure, awkward Cabana? But he can't really complain when not-so-shy-anymore Colt pushes him on the bed, pushing his knee between Punk's legs while kissing him with so much passion it makes Punk smile proudly.

He reconsiders complaining when moments later, their clothing scattered all over the place, Colt trails his lips down Punk's body so agonizingly slowly, completely ignoring Punk's now exposed erection and focuses his attention on everything _but _what Punk wants the most. Colt licks and kisses the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, carelessly brushing over the head of Punk's cock, before going up again and teasingly circling his tongue around his bellybutton. Punk moans impatiently, attempting to push Colt where he wants him to be, just to have his hands battled away.

"You know what you have to say, Punker," Colt raises his head and smiles.

"I…" Punk can't finish, because Colt's hot mouth is finally around his cock, tongue running along the underside, and Punk is forced to draw a sharp gasp.

"Yes?" he lifts his head again.

"…love you," Punk breathes out, "You fucking tease."

"C'mon, you don't mean it."

Punk grabs a pillow from under his hear and throws it at Colt, aiming at his head. He misses, but who could blame him, in his condition this is the least of his concerns.

"I _mean _it. Of course I love you, you idiot."

"That's more like it. That's the Punk I know."

Finally satisfied Colt finally resumes his actions, giving Punk a blowjob of his life, still slow, but steady and deep, simultaneously preparing Punk for what comes next, and when his fingers start brushing over his sweet spot, shivers run down Punk's spine and gather in his lower abdomen, but Colt stops again. He pulls himself up, his face hovering right above Punks, looking straight into his hazy green eyes.

"Again," He whispers against Punk's lips.

"I love you."

These words echo in their heads when Colt enters him, he builds a steady rhythm to them as he thrusts in and out of Punk, stroking him at the same time; he whispers them as he leans in to kiss him, and when they both reach the orgasm at the exact same time with each others' names on their lips, these are the words that ring unspoken in the air.

Minutes later they lay side by side, fingers intertwined, Punk says them again, on his own free will, but they don't sound as Colt would like them to. He has never thought before that these simple words could make him so happy and so broken at the same time, but isn't everything a goddamned rollercoaster when it comes to Punk?

"I love you," Punk says, twisting on his side, "But I'm still leaving, you know."

Colt turns on his side too, their foreheads touch, and a pair of olive eyes meets his, such a gentle, sad and hurt gaze that Colt has to close his eyes to prevent himself from bursting into tears.

"I could stay," he whispers, lifting Colt's chin with two fingers. "If that's what you want. Here. In ROH. With you."

"And be stuck here forever, Punk?" Colt sighs, uneasily. God knows, he wants Punk to stay, there is nothing he would want more, but he can't be doing this to him. He knows how much Punk always wanted this, how much he worked just to get this shot. No, ROH is not a place for Punk anymore.

"I don't feel stuck." Punk's voice is hoarse with the tears being held up, and the words are barely audible, Colt feels them on his skin more than hears them, but the regret and sorrow in Punk's voice don't change anything.

"Yes, you do."

Punk's entire body shakes with voiceless, tearless cry as he presses his lips to Colt's. His hands cup Colt's face, gently pulling him closer, into a kiss so sweet that they both want it to last forever, even if they perfectly know that it can't. Colt dives deeper into it, caressing Punk's lower lip, running his tongue along his lip ring, and Punk parts his lips instantly, meeting Cot's tongue and intertwining it with his own. There is no battle of any sorts, none of them wants to dominate; all they want is to feel each other, melt into each other for as long as they can. But nothing can change how that kiss actually tastes like, no matter how long it would last, it still feels like a goodbye.

Colt pulls away first, getting that gasp of air his lungs are desperate for, and he catches a change in Punk's expression when his olive eyes flutter open.

"Or," he says before kissing him again, "Better idea. You're coming with me."

The way Punk's eyes glisten when he says that make Colt's heart skip a bit. Somehow these words are worthy more than all the _I love you's _said before, more than every kiss and touch Punk has given him.

Because they mean that Punk wants Colt in his life.

Forever.

* * *

*Sighs* I… I need a moment here.  
And it's over. Honestly, I've never felt so attached to a story before, it made me sad to finish it. It was tough at times, but as for now I consider it the best thing I've ever written.  
And it's all thanks to YOU, my dearest readers and reviewers! If not for you, I would've never finished it. You motivated me so much along the way that I can't express my gratitude adequately enough.  
Do not be sad that it's over, though!  
Today a certain word document appeared in my "new fics" folder. A document labeled "Punk/Raven". Apparently, young and troubled Punk from his early days is now my thing. The story, however, will have nothing to do with how Raven is portrayed in this one.  
Once again, thank you all for reading and reviewing!


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